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A JOURNEY IN 
IRELAND 



A JOURNEY IN 
IRELAND 



BY 

WILFRID EWART 

CAPTAIN, LATE SPECIAL RESERVE, SCOTS GUARDS 
AUTHOR OF "way OF REVELATION" 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION 

BY 
MAJOR, THE EARL WINTERTON, M.P. 

UNDER-SECRETARY OF STATE FOR INDIA 




D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK : : : MCMXXII 



1-' 



^ 



^^" 



COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



©CI.A681542 



AU« 23 19^2 



Aa. « 



FOREWORD 

On April 18th, 1921, I went to Ireland, re- 
turning to England on May 10th. 

The sketches and conversations embodied 
in the following chapters are the result of a 
journey undertaken with the single object of 
studying the state of the country and the state 
of feeling in the country, as to which news- 
papers contradicted each other and propa- 
ganda and partisanship persistently vied. How 
far this could be done in so short a space of 
time the reader may judge for himself. I can 
only add that I made every endeavour to meet 
and to talk with persons of all shades of 
opinion and of all classes, hoping that there- 
from would emerge a just picture of Ireland 
in the extraordinary phase — ^unique, one might 
suppose, in the history of national movements 
— which ended with the truce of July, 1921. 

Where repetition is noticed or where one 



FOREWORD 

point of view or another seems to gain the 
upper hand, that fact must be accepted as part 
of the individual experience. For my part I 
offer no conclusions, nor deliberately sought 
any. No incident of any interest or signifi- 
cance has been suppressed. Conversations 
were taken down, in some cases literally as 
they were spoken, in others salient features 
or the sense of them were noted immediately 
afterwards. 

Acknowledgments are due to the Editors of 
The Times, the Westminster Gazette, and the 
Sunday Times for permission to reproduce 
certain portions of the book which appeared 
in their columns. 

Thanks are also due to the Editor of the 
Freeman's Journal, and to Mr. J. J. Sullivan, 
of Cork city, for their assistance in various 
ways; very especially to Mr. F. W. Ryan, of 
Dublin, who read the proofs and gave me the 
benefit of his knowledge and advice. 

Wilfrid Ewart. 

July 3rd, 1921. 



VI 



INTRODUCTION 

I BELIEVE that Mr. Ewart's first literary work 
Was published in a weekly journal, of which I 
Was the Editor. It was therefore with much 
pleasure that I set myself the task of reading 
the proof of his latest book. The impression 
left on my mind by this book is that it repre- 
sents an honest attempt to record, without 
prejudice, the extraordinary conflict of views 
and of right in present-day Ireland. Conflict 
of views there has always been, more furiously 
combatant in Ireland than almost anywhere 
else in the British Empire. Since 1914, at any 
rate, there have been questionings, in any im- 
partial person's mind, as to the exact moral 
rights of the different parties to the quarrel. 
One can hate and detest, as I do, the cowardly, 
secretive midnight assassinations and outrage, 

vii 



INTRODUCTION 

often demoniac in its callous fury, that not 
only was part of the Sinn Fein campaign when 
at its height, but worse, as history shows, is 
an ingrained tradition in certain districts and 
types of character in Southern Ireland; whilst, 
at the same time, disliking intensely certain 
acts of the British Government in Ireland 
since 1914. I will not, however, pursue this 
subject, as I am anxious to avoid, as Mr. 
Ewart has done, the ordinary cliches in writ- 
ing about Ireland: "England never will un- 
derstand Ireland"; "There are two nations in 
Ireland"; "The Irish are great gentlemen," 
etc. — statements so true, yet so banal, and so 
unsatisfying. 

The problem of the inter-relationship of 
England and Ireland for the last four years 
has been even more complicated than it natu- 
rally is, by external and world conditions. 
As everyone knows, the Allied statesmen of 
1918 and 1919 ran two horses and refused, 
in racing parlance, to declare to win with 
either. Those horses were "Internationalism" 
as represented by the League of Nations, and 

viii 



INTRODUCTION 

"Little Nationalism" as represented by self- 
determination. Both horses have had a rare 
gallop in Ireland. "Internationalism" de- 
manded that the British Government should 
justify or attempt to justify before the world 
its action and attitude in what is really a 
domestic quarrel. "Little Nationalism" de- 
manded that two states should be set up in 
an island, which judged by every standard 
except that of the Balkans, is barely large 
enough for one. The resultant progeny, to 
change the metaphor, would have been of a 
character comic in the extreme, if Irish per- 
versity had not made it so grim a tragedy of 
lost lives and ruined homes. 

A perusal of Mr. Ewart's book strengthens 
the conviction that the Irish Agreement, at 
least, offers a chance of conditions a shade 
less intolerable than those that prevailed be- 
fore it was reached; because, whilst the 
glimpse of Ireland which the book gives is 
only a fleeting one, even a stay of forty-eight 
hours in most parts of Ireland in the spring 
and early summer of 1921 were sufficient to 



INTRODUCTION 

satisfy any man or woman with two eyes that 
its condition was a disgrace to civilisation, 
and an outrage upon humanity. 

WiNTERTON. 
House of Commons, S.W.I. 
March 3rd, 1922. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword ...... v 

Introduction . , * . • vii 

CHAPTER 

I. Life in Dublin ..**•! 

II. Politics in Dublin . * • . 27 

III. Life in Cork . . . . .38 

IV. Talks with Sinn Fein . . .52 
V. Talks with Southern Unionists . 69 

VI. Life in Mallow 83 

VII. Soldiers and the Black and Tans . 98 

VIII. KiLMALLOCK TO LiMERICK . . .110 

IX. Talks in Limerick .... 126 

X. Glimpse into an Underworld . .152 

XI. Talks in the Midlands . . . 166 

XII. The Tullamore Road . . * , 186 

xi 



CHAPTER 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


XIII. 


The Road to Ulster . • 


. 197 


XIV. 


The Gates of Ulster . 


. 213 


XV. 


Belfast . . • . 


. 224 




Appendix .... 


. 255 




After-note ... * 


. . 259 



Xll 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

CHAPTER I 
LIFE IN DUBLIN 

A MIDDLE-AGED spinster lady, eating a 
fish-course, laid down her fork sharply. 

"That's a bomb !" 

Everybody else in the dining-room stopped 
eating for a moment. "Yes, that's a bomb!" 
they agreed — and went on with their talk and 
their food. 

A hollow "bang" like the bursting of a mo- 
tor-car tyre had broken the subdued murmur 
of the evening streets. And in any other city 
of the civilised world that sound would have 
been put down to a motor-car tyre bursting. 
But this city was Dublin and the hour the 
normal one for such occurrences. 

Wherefore, the peaceful inhabitants of the 

1 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

hotel went on with their dinner. No one took 
much interest in the matter — no one except the 
traveller who had arrived at Westland Row 
just half an hour earlier. To him it conveyed 
two facts — that the incident really was a nor- 
mal one in the city's life and that the bomb, by 
reason of the hollowness of its explosion, was 
not heavily charged but was probably a casing 
detonated. 

And, hastily finishing his dinner, the new 
arrival went out. He followed the direction 
from which, two or three streets away, the 
sound had come. He was still expectant of 
commotion. At the corner of the street two 
soldiers stood laughing with a girl. Home- 
goers, a few, were passing along Dawson 
Street. A tram clanked past. Groups of sol- 
diers, young men and young women, were 
standing about the north side of Stephen's 
Green, exchanging leisured pleasantries. A 
stranger in a very strange city does not like to 
ask questions, and only once was any casual 
allusion heard to a bomb bursting at the heart 

of it. 

2 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

"At the corner of Grafton Street and Duke 
Street, I think. ... A man and a girl." 

Grafton Street was full of people — men, 
girls, soldiers. Barrel-organs were grinding 
out "It's a long, long trail" and other old tunes 
of the war, and new ragtime ones. Newsboys 
were shouting "Another Dublin Ambush !" and 
(in an undertone) "Up the rebels!" Duke 
Street is half way down on the right-hand side. 
At the corner one noticed the cracked plate- 
glass window of a shop and the usual groups 
talking. That was all. 

When night did finally close down and as 
curfew hour approached, the tide of the peo- 
ple set hurrying over O'Connell Bridge to- 
wards the tram junction at the Nelson Pillar. 
The street lamps were lit and there were vague, 
shadowy crowds through which one had to 
press one's way. Black motor-cars containing 
mysterious-looking men rushed out of College 
Green at breakneck speed like bats or night- 
insects. 

Half an hour later — silence. I looked out of 

a window high up and saw spires, chimneys, 

3 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

roof-tops bathed in moonlight, and heard one 
sound — a rifle-shot. 

Next morning, the nineteenth of April, that 
first impression multiplied. 

Turning into Nassau Street out of Kildare 
Street I looked down the exceptionally long 
barrel of a revolver, the owner of which was a 
young gentleman in a dark green uniform, one 
of a number sitting on a motor-lorry, smoking 
a cigarette, his finger — ^visibly — on the trigger. 
The lorry rattled on. A woman stopped and 
glanced in at a shop-window. 

At the corner of Suffolk Street — a crowd. 
The faces of the men and women in the crowd 
— one sought an explanation here — wore a 
faintly-cynical, faintly-amused expression. 

"Hullo! What's up?" 

"Oh! Bagging somebody else's piano for 
their own use, I suppose." 

And there they were. Not a gentleman in 
dark green this time but a tall young man in 
khaki and a tam-o'-shanter, brandishing a re- 
volver as though it were a hair-brush, and, 

4 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

lounging about the street, which was otherwise 
empty, half-a-dozen similar young men, simi- 
larly armed. Now there is probably no more 
respectable-looking street in the world than 
Suffolk Street, Dublin. And yet, sure enough, 
here was a piano rakishly and mysteriously ap- 
pearing out of a window, slowly and solemnly 
descending into the arms of four Auxiliaries 
standing in a lorry below. '*' 

One other impression only was needed to 
stultify the faculty of surprise. That was on 
Grafton Street. Prosperity, now, is the key- 
note of Grafton Street, prosperity especially 
on a hot April afternoon when everybody is 
out shopping or amusing themselves, and 
motor-cars and cars and pony-carts line the 
curbs. One does not expect to see charging 
up such a thoroughfare, with no more warn- 
ing than his own clatter, an immense lorry 
caged in with wire-netting and bristling with 
rifles balanced at the "ready," by a score of 

*The explanation of the affair is that certain Auxiliaries 
were removing a piano which they had hired from a Suffolk 
Street firm, the piano-porters being- not then available. The 
incident is simply recorded as it happened. 

5 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

soldiers in steel helmets. One might as wdl 
expect such an apparition in Bond Street. 

"Vote for Sinn Fein! De Valera expects 
every man to do his duty!" — that and similaf 
inscriptions T:halked on a blank wall in Phibs- 
borough Road told the story of contemporary 
Ireland. 

And that story was repeated every evening, 
almost every hour of every day. 

It was told on the second evening when 
about nine o'clock a procession — armed lorries 
headed by an armoured car — tore down West- 
morland Street, everybody stopping and star- 
ing after them. Next morning we learnt that 
Police-Constable Stedman had been shot on his 
motor-bicycle in Henry Street while carrying 
despatches for the Castle. 

It was told on the second morning at 
Summerhill Parade, when one came up against 
a loose barbed-wire fence, a couple of soldiers 
with fixed bayonets lounging idly on the 
further side of it, and three lorries standing 
outside a house in a side-street, the inhabitants 

6 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

of which were peering nervously out of their 
windows. A "round-up" was going forward 
in the Summerhill district. 

On the third evening again, I found myself 
at Dartry Road, wandering along that favour- 
ite footpath of the residents, still more of the 
local love-makers, which follows the Dodder- 
stream along a little ravine — and recollected 
curfew. By the time I reached the terminus, 
the last tram had left for the city and the 
alternative presented itself of walking three 
miles in half an hour or of being "curfewed" 
and probably arrested. By good fortune, I 
picked up a jaunting car after running half 
the distance. 

Curfew, that dim relic of English country 
towns, was the sinister boundary of every 
Irishman's horizon in April, 1921. And cur- 
few habits had to be learnt. Curfew-breakers 
were summarily dealt with in police courts. 
It was a seasonable reminder to see an elderly 
member of a famous Dublin club peep out of 
its glass portals after the forbidden hour, then, 

finding the coast clear, scurry along the street 

7 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

like a cat to his nearby home. . . . Nor was 
it an easy matter to obtain a curfew pass even 
for the best of reasons. I applied for one at 
the gates of the Castle and was curtly told 
I should be lucky to get it in three days. Nor 
when obtained was it an unmixed blessing. In 
a newspaper-office I talked to a young clerk 
who possessed such a pass and had been held 
up in the small hours of the morning by Black 
and Tans. 

"Most of them were drunk, and they swore 
at me and asked for my pass and swore at me 
again and loosed off their rifles and drove 
away." 

It is not too much to say that the young man 
was indignant. ... 

The abiding impression of Dublin at this 

time was the recurring contrast between the 

ordinary workaday life of a modern city and 

the queer forces which lurked such a little way 

beneath. The ruined Post Office in Sackville 

Street was the only standing reminder of what 

had gone before, although the Gresham Hotel 

revived painful memories of Black Sunday; to 

8 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

them both now has to be added the Customs- 
House. Sitting in Phoenix Park of an after- 
noon, one saw old men dozing on seats, nur- 
sery-maids reading novelettes, and the children 
shouting and playing on grassy slopes for all 
the world as if Dublin herself were a play- 
ground. One passed out of the gates into the 
North Circular Road and lorries came tearing 
along at twenty-five miles an hour, their dark 
green or khaki loads bristling with rifles. 

Jammet's, at luncheon-time, was half -empty, 
yet contrived to maintain the illusion of a 
segregated and civilised society. Now and 
then you made contact with Dublin's precious 
but distinguished intellectual and artistic world 
and found it revolving around Merrion and 
Fitzwilliam Squares apparently undisturbed. 
But if you went to St. John Ervine's "Mixed 
Marriage" at the Abbey Theatre you found the 
place half -empty. You might feel that the 
acting fell below expectations and indeed the 
theme; you began to speculate already about 
that other deadly warfare of the protesting 
North. 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

And you came out in the dusk to find Dub- 
lin's warfare staring you in the face on Eden 
Quay, where, outside Mooney's public-house, 
groups of men and youths lounged and spat 
and smoked. Was it not from this corner that 
bombs were thrown last Sunday night? . . . 

On fine afternoons the white-flannelled 
students play cricket on the grassy lawns of 
Trinity College, a stone's throw from Nassau 
Street. And as you stood, one of a group, 
watching them through the railings, through 
an opening in the foliage, you could not fore- 
see that from here a fortnight hence revol- 
ver-shots would be fired, or that the daisy- 
sprinkled bank would be stained by a girl's 
blood. 

The interior of Dublin Castle presented it- 
self as a hive from which, as one passed up- 
country, all subsequent activities sprang. In 
and out of the great gate, with its ramshackle 
flankments of barbed wire and sandbags, a 
constant procession of armoured cars, lorries, 
tenders, and Ford cars passed. The Ford cars 
themselves and their occupants — two or four 

10 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

commonplace-looking individuals in soft felt 
hats and macintoshes — attached to themselves, 
after a while, a peculiar significance. In the 
wide courtyard, scene of so many mysterious 
happenings — curtain-raisers to greater dramas 
or to the Hereafter — rows of the now familiar 
lorries and cars stood grilling in the sunshine, 
their green or khaki crews smoking cigarettes, 
joking, fingering their revolver-holsters. In 
their midst, or sitting on one of the lorries, a 
row of nondescript-looking civilians — spitting. 

The whitewashed guard-room on the right 
of the gate where you signed your name — that 
had its associations. One day, they told you, 
two rebel-leaders, sitting amicably with their 
guards by the fire, sprang for the door, and, 
shot or bayoneted, were killed. 

Within the buildings, soldiers, staif -officers, 

and officials bustling to and fro: it resembled 

a General Headquarters in the Great War. 

One was ushered into a room where elderly, 

bearded men sat scribbling shorthand on pads 

balanced on their knees and young be-spec- 

tacled men scribbled shorthand on pads, as they 

11 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Stood. A monotonous voice was reciting, sen- 
tence by sentence: 

''Crown Forces operating Thursday on the 
Kerry-Limerick border called upon three civil- 
ians at Knocktoosh to halt. Two of them 
failed to do so. . . .*' 

"A party of eight R.I.C. police from Castle- 
bar, Co. Mayo, travelling in a motor-car, were 
ambushed at 6.30 a. m. . . .'* 

The monotonous voice was punctured by the 
still more monotonous ''tap-tap-tap" of ^ type- 
writer in .an adjoining room. 

A short, clean-shaven man wearing glasses 
presented himself and led the way out to the 
inner courtyard of the Castle. He was Mr. 
Basil Clarke, the mouthpiece of the Irish Gov- 
ernment through the sieve of whose intelligence 
all Irish news (and all propaganda) passed. 
We paced up and down the colonnade while 
I explained my project. 

Mr. de Valera's Proclamation to the Irish 
people had appeared that morning. The Castle 
representative drew attention to two points 
in it: 

12 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

( 1 ) The appeal to the Electorate to vote on 
the issue of a Republic. (This was answered 
within a month by the unopposed return of 
Sinn Fein candidates for the Southern Parlia- 
ment. ) 

(2) That passage in the Proclamation which 

ran : 

"The policy of Sinn Fein . . . stands for the right 
of the people of this Nation to determine freely for 
themselves how they shall be governed, and for the 
right of- every citizen to an equal voice in the deter- 
mination ; it stands for civil and religious equality, and 
for the full proportional representation and all possible 
safeguarding of minorities. . . ." 

This was interpreted as a direct reference 
to Ulster's claims. 

In reply to an inquiry regarding the likely 
result of negotiations then believed to be tak- 
ing place, my candid informant said : 

"You may take it that negotiations — indi- 
rect, of course — have gone on continuously 
since last June (1920), but it has always 
seemed as though an extremist wing of Sinn 
Fein intended to wreck them. Whenever they 

seemed like succeeding, some particularly vio- 

13 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

lent outrage has taken place which caused the 
Government to stiffen their backs for fear of 
seeming to give way to murder." 

''Couldn't a truce have been fixed up but for 
Lloyd George's stipulation about the giving up 
of arms?" 

"Perhaps. The question of an amnesty as 
regards Collins, Mulcahy, and the two others 
remains the difficulty, though." 

I inquired whether Russian money was be- 
lieved to be at the back of the Sinn Fein move- 
ment as alleged by the Duke of Northumber- 
land and Lord Carson. 

"It cannot be stated definitely. Bolshevist 
money may reach Sinn Fein through the Irish 
Labour Party or through Sinn Fein agents who 
are in touch with Moscow. The alliance be- 
tween Sinn Fein and Labour is an affaire de 
convenance because Labour holds Sinn Fein's 
strongest weapon — the transport strike. They 
remain nevertheless separate and distinct 
movements." 

At the conclusion of our conversation I was 
informed that if I wished to proceed with my 

14 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

journey an official pass would be granted (if 
desired), and that the Castle would answer for 
me if arrested by Crown Forces. 

I thereupon repaired to the nearest photog- 
rapher's and, armed with his frightful dis- 
closures, made my way to G.H.Q., Parkgate. 
Here a benevolent major went through the 
passport process so familiar to visitors at Lake 
Buildings, St. James's Park, recording one's 
every physical feature with embarrassing ac- 
curacy. He then, with a few cautionary words, 
handed me my pass, together with his blessing. 

My first acquaintance with the "Irregular 
Forces" (in an irregular capacity!) came about 
in an untidy little restaurant near College 
Green. In the street a barrel-organ was grind- 
ing out its inevitable tale of ragtime, but above 
that turgid repertoire could be heard sounds 
of singing, laughter, and dancing feet in 
which every now and then a feminine voice 
predominated. 

In answer to my question the waiter winked. 

"They have a lot of drink taken," he re- 

15 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

marked, merely adding that they were *^some 
of the boys/' 

I thereupon caught a glimpse through the 
half-open door of a young person in civilian 
clothes dancing by himself in the middle of the 
room, brandishing a bottle. 

Presently half-a-dozen young men and maid- 
ens came tumbling out of the room, laughing 
and swearing pleasantly. One was rather 
drunk. 

Meanwhile two Auxiliaries in uniform sat 
at a table by the window, puffing at cigarettes, 
gazing boredly down into the street. . . . 

There was civility and to spare in the shops, 
but when you walked about the triangular area 
between Talbot Street, Amiens Street and Rail- 
way Street, you encountered that furtive, half- 
cowed and half-hostile attitude of the people 
which subsequently dogged your footsteps 
through Ireland. There are slums as bad no 
doubt in Bethnal Green, but by morning light 
the people of this oldest quarter of Dublin wear 
a shamed look as their houses do, as the grey, 
peeling walls and dirty striped mattresses 

16 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

hanging out of window do, as those wretched 
creatures in shreds of cloth or shawls, down- 
at-heel slippers, and frowsy hair, those hordes 
of filthy children happy in their ignorance and 
their super-abundant humour do. Only once 
have I seen a place more nakedly expressive 
of human depravity, and that not in London 
or Paris but in North Dublin among the refuse 
heaps near the Great Northern railway line. 
Here things like wasps crawl on mountains of 
rubbish, their creeping movements alone dis- 
tinguishing them from the old tins, the scraps 
of paper and the rags. They are old men, 
women, girls, children — Dublin's ghouls. 

Tyrone Street has contributed its quota to 
the Irish Republican Army, no doubt; but 
Tyrone Street has changed its name. During 
the war it contributed its quota to the British 
Army (for no very patriotic reason), but in 
the Irish regiments a "Tyrone Street man" 
was a particular kind of man. He was known 
of all recruiting sergeants, rejected if possible, 
marked. Experienced N.C.O.'s recognised a 

"Tyrone Street man" as much by his under- 

17 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

sized physique as by certain Irishisms he used, 
which are apparently copyright in Tyrone 
Street. But — Tyrone Street is no more ! 

My stay in DubHn was prolonged by un- 
successful endeavours to get into touch with 
the Sinn Fein Executive, from whom I hoped 
to obtain some assurance before starting up- 
country. The value of an introduction from 
London to the Republican Minister of Publicity 
had been somewhat reduced when this gentle- 
man was found to be inhabiting the Internment 
Camp at the Curragh. 

Things began to look more promising, how- 
ever, when I was directed (from an influential 
source) to an individual described as being on 
the "outer inner ring" of the movement. This 
gentleman (who, by the way, was interned a 
week or two later) I found occupying a villa 
on the western outskirts of the capital. I was 
shown into a drawing-room, agreeably schemed 
in mahogany and dull red, surrounded by 
shelves heavily book-laden. A sharp-eyed, 
wizened-looking little man wearing trouser- 

18 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

clips presently appeared, announcing that he 
was in a hurry to attend a meeting in the city. 
I explained my desires and he informed me 
that my request would be placed before the 
meeting. The next time I was to catch sight 
of the gentleman was some months later in 
Whitehall, when he was attending upon his 
chief at a "conversation'' with the Prime 
Minister. 

I subsequently received a telephone message 
to the effect that a messenger would meet me 
at Kingsbridge a few minutes before the de- 
parture of the afternoon train to Cork. No 
messenger appeared, however. I again post- 
poned my departure. 

Next morning I applied in another quarter. 
This effort, too, was to prove fruitless, but 
I became hereby acquainted with the strange 
story of Mr. H. This story is reproduced with 
reserve as to its implications; its interest lies 
in the baleful but revealing light which it seems 
to shed upon the Ireland of that day. 

On a certain afternoon of September, 1920, 
a number of journalists were summoned to a 

19 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

house in Dublin where, it was intimated, some- 
thing interesting was about to happen. My 
informant was one of them; the party also in- 
cluded representatives of well-known English, 
American, Italian, and French newspapers. On 
arrival they found the Republican Vice-Presi- 
dent, Mr. Arthur Griffith, who, after some 
general conversation, announced that he ex- 
pected a visitor and that this visitor had an 
important proposition to develop. The prop- 
osition was none other than the betrayal of 
the chief of the English Secret Service to Sinn 
Fein. 

He has asked me," Mr. Griffith went on, 
to let him meet leaders of the movement, 
especially on the military side, and he is com- 
ing here this evening imagining that he is to 
meet some inner council of the Sinn Fein move- 
ment. I believe he is only one of a number of 
men acting as agents provocateurs throughout 
the country. I will let him tell you his own 
story, but I would ask the foreign gentlemen 
present not to speak much, lest the man's sus- 
picions be aroused." 

20 



it 
it 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

A knock at the door, and the expected visitor 
— a fair-haired, heavy-jowled man of about 
50 — entered. Though warmly welcomed he 
appeared slightly nervous and, as my inform- 
ant remarked, "modestly lowered his eyes." At 
Mr. Griffith's request he proceeded to tell his 
story. 

He was an Englishman, he announced, but 
hated England and detested the English Gov- 
ernment so much that when rumours of con- 
scription arose, he fled to Ireland. 

"You know," he remarked, "I would sooner 
be shot dead than fight for England." 

He preferred attending race-meetings in 
Ireland. "For," said he, "I'm a bit of a sports- 
man." And he told of his imprisonment in the 
cause of Irish freedom. Up in Derry he had 
taken part in a raid for arms by Sinn Fein 
Volunteers, and had had the misfortune to be 
captured and sentenced to five years' penal 
servitude. 

"How did you escape from Maryboro'?" 
somebody inquired. 

"H. settled himself comfortably in his chair 

21 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

and spoke glibly for five minutes in his cosmo- 
politan accent/' was my informant's descrip- 
tion. It happened in this way. H.'s father 
was a prominent Freemason; he had also held 
an important position on King Edward's yacht. 
"In addition/' H. added, "I myself was special 
shorthand writer to the Duke of Connaught in 
Canada. So I had influential connections and 
wrote to some friends in London who got me 
released last year." 

The tale proceeded. Looking for work on 
his return to London, H. was advised to seek 
out a certain Captain T. in the Charing Cross 
Road. This gentleman offered him an appoint- 
ment in the English Secret Service at 30^. a 
day with special bonuses for information ob- 
tained. Meetings were arranged in Dublin — 
one on Kingston Pier, another at the foot of 
the Wellington Monument in Phcenix Park. 
Recognition on these occasions was by signs 
only, H. having been ca,utioned to have no re- 
lationship of any kind with Dublin Castle or 
the Irish Detective Service. Captain T., how- 
ever, at some time produced a photograph of 

22 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

Michael Collins, the Republican Minister of 
Finance. 

At this point of the narrative, one of the 
supposed "inner ring" inquired what might be 
done in the matter. 

The answer was that a meeting might be 
arranged with Captain T. on the West Pier at 
Dun Laoghaire. "It is a very lonely spot dur- 
ing most hours of the day." He would advise 
Sinn Fein of the date and hour, and they could 
then "get" this alleged Chief of the English 
Secret Service. 

"For T.," the spy was at pains to add, "is 
the man responsible for all the dirty work in 
Ireland and holds the strings of all the Secret 
Service operating against the Sinn Fein move- 
ment." 

A moment's silence followed these sinister 
remarks. 

Other names were mentioned. Lord Carson 
was one of them. Information could be sup- 
plied as to his movements, and so it could as 
to the movements of Sir Hamar Greenwood. 
Ulster Arsenals could be unmasked in Derry. 

23 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

There was a proposition relating to a house 
near Tramore which was shortly to be raided 
by the military for arms. Only three lorriesf ul 
w6re to be sent — why not a greater force of 
Volunteers to ''disarm'' the soldiers? 

Horror with difficulty disguised itself in the 
faces of the listeners as these cold-blooded Dro- 
posals came out one by one. 

The real purpose of the alleged agent pro- 
vocateur revealed itself at last. Would it not 
prevent the English Secret Service chiefs be- 
coming suspicious of him if he were furnished 
with a certain amount of "genuine informa- 
tion": if he could report, for instance, that 
Mike Collins was in a certain place on Wednes- 
day and hold back his report until Friday. 
He would gain the support of his superiors, 
wouldn't he, and be able further to assist the 
Sinn Fein movement? 

"And of course," he added, " no harm would 
come to ould Mick !" 

"He was a very stupid man," was my infor- 
mant's comment. 

Mr. Griffith rose. 

24 



LIFE IN DUBLIN 

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "you have heard 
this man's proposal and can judge for your- 
selves. Mr. H. has told you one version of his 
career — I will tell you another.'' 

Picture the scene: the Republican leader 
quiet and nonchalant, impenetrable behind his 
glasses; the circle of journalists — the "inner 
Council of Sinn Fein"— shocked, almost pain- 
fully expectant of what was coming; the cen- 
tral figure, startled, pale, suddenly and terribly 
frightened. 

Mr. Griffith proceeded to relate a history 
of crime. Forgery and fraud, embezzlement, 
petty larceny, two sentences of seven years' 
penal servitude each, a sentence of five years' 
penal servitude passed on December 8th, 1918, 
at Belfast Assizes for a series of frauds. Such 
was H.'s record. During the recital the 
wretch's mouth twitched and his hands shook. 
Mr. Griffith ended the long narration with 
these words: 

"You are a scoundrel, H., but the people who 
employ you are greater scoundrels. A boat 
will leave Dublin to-night at nine o'clock. My 

25 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

advice to you is — catch that boat and never 
return to Ireland. You may use your peculiar 
talents as you like in your own country. I have 
nothing more to say," 

Crushed and frightened, the man protested 
in a piteous tone that he had never done any- 
thing against Sinn Fein. He could not leave 
Dublin that night. 

The Sinn Fein Vice-President indicated the 
door and the spy walked quickly from the 
room. ... 

He left for England by the night-mail. 



CHAPTER II 

POLITICS IN DUBLIN 

IN a red-brick Georgian house on Me-rrion 
Square, which compares with the best in 
Bath or Brighton, and to which my prolonged 
stay in DubHn presently led me, "iE/' presides 
like the reincarnation of an ancient Irish bard. 
And George Russell stands for a large section 
of Ireland, not alone by the essentially Irish 
quality of his mind but by reason of his signifi- 
cant presence, the stature of the man, the mas- 
sive head and nut-brown beard. Even the 
room in which he receives you is atmospheric 
and individual — calm, sombre-tinted, mellow. 

''All governments are rotten — though their 
individual members may be honest men — ^be- 
cause they act not upon what is right but in 
obedience to forces more powerful than them- 
selves. . . . We Irish have no hatred of the 

27 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

English; our hatred is of the English Govern- 
ment which treats Ireland, and has so treated 
her through centuries, as a slave race." 

We sat in front of the fire, ''2E.'' wearing a 
shamrock-green tie. There was green in the 
room, too, green against a prevailing note of 
brown. The poet spoke forcibly — deliberately, 
yet without hesitation — and with a remarkable 
precision of English. 

"It's difficult for one man to speak for a 
whole nation. . . . We do want independence. 
But if the Government would frankly call a 
free conference and proclaim a truce, making 
at the same time a definite offer, something 
might be done." 

"May I ask what you call an 'oflFer' ?" 

"If Ulster would come into the Dominion 
of Ireland as a federated State, and if all the 
rights that Canada has or that Australia has 
were granted us, we might reconsider the ques- 
tion of separation." 

"And the Army and Navy — foreign rela- 
tions?" 

"We must have control of our ports. And 

28 



POLITICS IN DUBLIN 

why a British garrison in a free country? 
Foreign relations must be our concern as much 
as the concern of Canada, Australia, and South 
Africa — no more and no less/* 

'What about fiscal autonomy?" 

"If Ireland wanted to put a duty on certain 
English goods, English manufacturers would 
no doubt raise a howl. That cannot be helped. 
We must be a Dominion State in fact as well 
as in name. Besides, England and Ireland are 
an economic unity and are bound to remain so 
for a long time. I think it would be folly to 
start a tariff war." 

'Who wants the Government of Ireland 
Act?" "^." demanded in reply to another 
question. "Why, of 102 Irish M.P.'s not one 
has voted for it!" 

He went on to speak of the rank and file of 
the Irish Republican Army as being "inspired 
by a mystical passion of nationality," adding 
that "mistakes" had been made by particular 
groups. He spoke of the forebodings of that 
Sunday evening when, returning home, he 
heard of the fifteen assassinations. 

29 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"That," he declared, "was a bad day for 
Ireland." 

These exchanges led to a discussion upon 
the policy and methods of the I.R.A. 

How did he explain the motives and psy- 
chology of men who could kill their opponents 
in cold blood — opponents, moreover, who were 
engaged (though at Dublin Castle) on work 
like map-making and not on Secret Service? 

"Personally, I am not in favour of violence," 
was the reply. "But you fought in the war, 
didn't you? Well, the I.R.A. men consider 
themselves to be fighting for their country's 
integrity and freedom just as much as you did 
during the war with Germany. As to the 
murders, you must have seen Germans shot in 
cold blood — prisoners, for instance? Such 
things happen in war and always will. People 
in England seem to forget or not to realize 
that a state of war prevails in this country." 

Our Curfew Parliament, which assembled 
nightly before the hotel fire, was not so lumi- 
nous as the author of "Imaginations and Rev- 

30 



POLITICS IN DUBLIN 

eries" in his quiet study. But it expressed 
perhaps more truly because more chaotically 
the Dublin of that day. Here one received a 
first schooling in the necessities and reserva- 
tions of a politics-ridden country. And for all 
the affability and the drawing-up of chairs, one 
detected at first a certain stricture in the con- 
versation, a readiness on the part of everybody, 
unusual in England, to explain his position and 
business, and way of life. From which one 
inferred that a similar frankness was to be 
expected of oneself. Until this frankness was 
established indeed, politics, when touched upon, 
were avoided or adroitly dropped. Gradually, 
however, the little company warmed to a meas- 
ure of confidence, though the Irish lawyer kept 
his own counsel and the American consular 
official contributed little. Definite expressions 
of opinion, indeed, evoked unresponsive sur- 
prise, so that, offering them, one was left "in 
the air," with the feeling of having made a 
faux pas. Such reticences one has associated 
with bygone Poland, Austria, or Russia under 

31 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

an Imperial Secret Service, savoured with a 
soupgon of William le Queux. 

On the following evening things did warm 
up. A middle-aged land-agent expressed the 
opinion that in his part of the country a farm- 
er's land which in pre-war times had been 
worth £25 was now worth £50, and that the 
real ambition of the farmers was not Ireland 
a Republic, but an Ireland in which a man 
could till his own soil and hand it down in fee 
simple to his children. 

A young medical student declared that the 
root of the Irish question lay in the influence 
of the priests and the anti-English, or rather 
pro-Irish, system of education in primary and 
secondary schools. He went on to give in- 
stances that had come to his own knowledge, 
using a phrase which has lingered in the mem- 
ory: "Ireland suffers from too much religion 
and too little Christianity." 

Different was the tone of an elderly land- 
owner, descendant of Grattan, who had fought 
the Constitutional fight for upwards of a gen- 
eration and whose clenched fist was raised at 

32 



POLITICS IN DUBLIN 

the Forces of the Crown. He started on 
moderate lines, even telHng a good-humoured 
anecdote about Mr. Lloyd George. 

'It was in a North Wales constituency some 
years ago. We met in a railway-carriage and 
got on to Ireland. The fellow irritated me so 
much by his ignorance that at last I began 
giving him a bit of my mind, ending up with 
the words. Well, Lloyd George, Fm afraid we 
shall have to settle this with fists.' Instead 
of getting angry, however, he laughed and 
asked me to luncheon. Not such a bad chap 
after all !" 

A rare character, this Nationalist fire-eater, 
with his weather-beaten face, sunken eyes and 
picturesque untidiness. He had lived hard and 
ridden hard (and talked hard) all his life, but 
the unexpected thing was that he had read 
hard, too — was an equal advocate of Machia- 
velli and Mr. Balfour, and had strong though 
possibly over - weighted intellectual powers. 
Such types one still finds among the older Irish 
landed gentry. . . . And he had his own pe- 
culiar solution of the Irish question. 

33 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"Irishmen simply want Ireland to remain 
outside British party politics. Give us an Irish 
Government, led by an Irish Prime Minister, 
subject to the prerogative of the King of Eng- 
land — a Republic, if you like, within the British 
Empire. Control of foreign affairs we would 
leave with you ; your Navy could use our ports, 
as now. We grudge nothing that you may 
think vital to the safety of the Empire— not 
even loyalty. But — leave us to look after our 
own affairs!" 

An allusion to the Government of Ireland 
Act met with a contemptuous laugh. 

"Why, it would be worse for us than the 
present regime! Under the Act, the Viceroy 
can veto any legislation passed by an Irish 
Parliament. That would practically mean gov- 
ernment by committee. Who wants to be run 
by a handful of effete Englishmen?" 

He was strong on that. "Effete English- 
men" was a favourite expression, and he ap- 
peared rather aggressively anxious to empha- 
sise national and racial distinctions. There was 

a scheme for supplying England with skilled 

34 



POLITICS IN DUBLIN 

Irish labour — with agricultural workers and 
woodmen, some of them trained on his own 
estate. . . . With it all he was an Imperialist. 
That was puzzling. It was puzzling, too, to 
discover that he had commanded an Irish bat- 
talion of the British Army during the war — 
exulted in the fact. 

There were, nevertheless, recurring moments 
when the room rang with the veteran's denun- 
ciations of the methods of the Crown, when he 
shook his fist and, trembling from head to foot, 
glared round at his friends. 

"They rush about our country roads in their 
lorries, firing their rifles, and frightening our 
wives and daughters, murdering. But I tell 
you, if so much as a hair of the head of one 
of my family or any of my dependants is 
touched — " 

Shaking with rage, he went on to tell of how 
his wife and daughter had been driving their 
motor-car along a country road in Galway 
when a lorryful of Black and Tans had come 
along, had sworn at them, had forced them 
almost into the ditch. He ended thus: 

35 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"Remember, it's a vendetta ! It's blood for 
blood and life for life. I say that if any of 
mine or any near to me are so much as touched 
by these ruffians, Til have the life not of a 
policeman, but of one of our 'great men' who 
'rule' at Dublin Castle. And they know it — 
I've told them so to their faces ! I tell you, the 
Irish people will not forget this thing for 
generations — unto the third and fourth gen- 
eration. . . . We were prospering, the country 
was settling down, and then — this gang of as- 
sassins. And the work of my lifetime undone." 

During this harangue the other members of 
the little circle became uneasy. The practical 
land-agent repeatedly murmured his dissent, 
and next morning declared that he flatly dis- 
agreed with these opinions, which were not 
representative of the majority of the Irish 
people, adding: 

"You mustn't pay too much attention to him. 
He's like that — he doesn't mean half he says." 

My own impression, on the whole, differed. 
The deep-set eyes, the dull light that smoul- 
dered in them, the rugged face and powerful 

36 



POLITICS IN DUBLIN 

jaw with their suggestion of fanaticism, ex- 
pressed a resentment that rankled deep and a 
determination that would brook no wrong. On 
the whole, this grim old Nationalist stood for 
the kind of man who for better or worse has 
suffered, fought, and in some cases died for 
Ireland during later periods of her history. 



CHAPTER III 

LIFE IN CORK 

THE mail train to Cork, which had been due 
to leave Dublin at 7.30 a. m., did not in 
fact depart till 8.15 on the morning of April 
23rd. 

Arriving at Kingsbridge after a chilly drive 
through Dublin's awakening streets, I found 
several Crown lorries standing in the station 
yard and a score of *'men in green" pacing up 
and down the platform. A number of other 
prospective passengers had collected by the 
original hour of departure, including several 
horsy-looking persons and one merry party of 
young people on their way to Clonmel races. 

When the train at last came in half -full of 
passengers from the Kingstown boat, I made 
for the breakfast car. Here, as table compan- 
ion, was a person of such a type as one meets 

only in Ireland. He was beefy, red-faced, and 

38 



LIFE IN CORK 

red-haired; he had a colossal appetite. He was 
the only Irishman I met who took no interest 
in politics, but disclosed instead an interest in 
horses and horse-racing transcending anything 
else. We discussed three-year-olds and Cup 
horses of the year with a gusto which was ex- 
plained when he informed me that before as- 
suming the garb of the Church of Ireland, he 
had been a cattle and horse dealer and had 
made many a voyage in Glasgow and Liv- 
erpool cattle-boats. Even now he trained 
and raced his own horses. Incidentally he 
"swore." . . . 

In the middle of breakfast four big Black 
and Tans with revolvers strapped to their 
thighs tramped in, sat down at the next table, 
and leant their rifles against the backs of their 
chairs. 

A prosperous-looking country fled by. The 
greenness of everything, the grazing cattle, the 
smug appearance of the white cottages and 
farmsteads against the sunlit landscape, pro- 
tested against the presence of a spectre that 
stalked through the counties of the South. 

39 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

At the Curragh a number of racing-men got 
in; at Maryborough a number of railwaymen. 
These descended at Thurles, with affable "good 
mornings." 

By midday we were at Cork. . . . 

Earlier visitors to the hotel at which I stayed 
had spoken of it as a f avourit^e resort of Black 
and Tans and Government "agents," and had 
described more than one lively "scene" of 
which they had been witnesses. I was sur- 
prised, therefore, to find a large dining-room 
occupied by three persons only — two Dublin 
surgeons and an individual whom I shall' 
call X. 

Mr. X. was a tall man of fine physique, 
dressed in a grey tweed suit, and he always 
wore a black tie with a rather flash-looking 
pearl pin. On the street he wore a "billycock" ; 
he never carried stick, umbrella, or gloves. He 
had a hard, bony face, a short bristly mous- 
tache, and a devil-may-care expression which 
boded ill for anyone who should cross him. 
Altogether a tough-looking customer. 

He appeared to have plenty of money too 

40 



LIFE IN CORK 

and nothing to do all day but chaff the waiters, 
drink whiskies-and-sodas and stand at the door 
of the hotel with his hands in his pockets. Once 
or twice I met him in the street, standing out- 
side some tea-shop or lounging along the pave- 
ment treating the world to a defiant sneer. If 
by chance one fell into conversation with the 
hall-porter of the hotel or any of its residents, 
this individual appeared from nowhere; you 
would suddenly find him lighting a cigar at 
your elbow or looking out of the window with- 
in hearing distance, or he would frankly seat 
himself opposite and order a drink. 

We had a conversation about nothing. We 
regarded one another with hostility. I never 
discovered anything about X. except that he 
had served in the South African War and had 
held a commission during the European War. 
To the end of my journey — and we were often 
to meet — X. remained a mystery. 

That Cork was full of spies and that a stray 

Englishman bent upon an apparently aimless 

mission was bound to be taken for one, sooa 

41 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

became evident. It was a novel sensation. On 
the second morning after my arrival, while 
writing letters in the hotel smoking-room, 
which abutted upon the busy street, a dark, 
lean individual wearing a brown suit attracted 
my attention. He passed and repassed on the 
opposite pavement, each time glancing at the 
window before which I sat. I drew the lace 
curtains, through the interstices of which I 
could see my friend without being seen. He 
stopped nearly opposite, looked casually up and 
down the street, and then keenly at my window. 

Later on I had occasion to walk up to Vic- 
toria Barracks. Half-way along Patrick Street 
I caught sight of the hungry-looking creature 
on the opposite side of the road. I let him get 
slightly ahead and before reaching the bridge 
swerved sharp down a side-street and so back 
to the hotel. 

When , later I did visit the Barracks, it 
dawned upon me that the groups of young men 
loafing outside public-houses in the neighbour- 
hood were not so idle as they looked. Seeing 

tv/o respectable-looking gentlemen conversing 

42 



LIFE IN CORK 

at a street corner, I inquired the best way to 
my destination. One of them gave me a di- 
rection in purest Cockney, the other so con- 
fidential a wink that I reaHsed we all belonged 
in each other's opinion to the freemasonry 
of X. 

Notwithstanding this subterranean activity 
and despite the fact that, on the following 
morning, all the postmen were held up on their 
rounds and robbed of their mails, Cork city 
seemed quiet after Dublin. 

Even Patrick Street did not startle. There 
it was hot and busy in the sunshine, and you 
hardly noticed at first the area of stark ruins 
in the very centre of it. Then you thought of 
— ^Amiens. 

And you realised why the ruins were — in 
your eyes — inconspicuous; because they had 
grown normal and customary in seven years, 
because ruins were characteristic of the Ireland 
of 1921. 

There were to be seen at all hours, it is true, 
an extraordinary number of young and middle- 
aged, able-bodied men standings about the 

43 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

streets ; and that seemed typical of Cork, as of 
most other Irish towns. It was due, in part, 
to the slackness of the port and of business 
generally, but mainly to the closing down of 
Ford's Works which had been established to 
supply agricultural tractors for the whole of 
Ireland and had hitherto employed between 
700 and 800 men. 

Soldiers thronged the streets but few Irreg- 
ulars, and comparatively few of those clatter- 
ing armed lorries and cars which had con- 
fronted you half a dozen times an hour in 
Dublin. . . . "K'' Division had gone "up 
country." 

And to a certain extent this appearance of 
peaceableness was illusory. One of the first 
men I met in Cork was the manager of a big 
business there who on the previous Friday 
evening had been the victim of an unpleasant 
experience. It was pay-day. Surrounded by 
notes and cash, he sat in his office about 5.30 
when the door was flung open and four rough- 
looking men entered, levelling revolvers at his 

head. One of the four was masked, the others 

44 



LIFE IN CORK 

wore false moustaches. The leader than or- 
dered the manager to conduct him to the safe 
where the bulk of pay was kept. The latter 
did so with, as he described it, "one of the 
swine backing away from me holding a revol- 
ver in a shaking hand and another prodding 
me in the back with a revolver-barrel;'' the 
other members of the gang meanwhile were 
helping themselves to the loose cash on the 
office-desk. They eventually made off with 
£1,200 in cash, and, in the words of the fairy 
story, "were never heard of again." 

Another gentleman I met in Cork was a bank 
manager. His experience was that having, 
during a two minutesV absence, left open his 
strong-room door, "some person or persons 
unknown" had entered and relieved the bank 
of £800^ — "an almost weekly occurrence" he 
called it. 

Most Cork business firms now pay wages by 
cheque. . . . 

These, of course, were ordinary crimes. 
There were undoubtedly at this time increasing 
signs of the professional criminal element tak- 

45 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

ing advantage of the unsettled conditions in 
the South, and against them the police seemed 
practically powerless: there were also the in- 
tricate machinations of Sinn Fein. And there 
were still the Black and Tans. The unfortunate 
populace fell between two stools, if not three, 
as the following episode shows. 

The wife of a big man of business in Cork 
was informed by her servants that her house- 
maid must go. She had been guilty of the 
offence of talking to Black and Tans. Sinn 
Fein vengeance, they pointed out, was in- 
evitable. "But," the lady of the house sug- 
gested, "what about the Black and Tans — 
won't they have a word or two to say if I 
turn her out?" And the other servants agreed 
that they would. Anyway, the housemaid re- 
mained, and the household has not since been 
disturbed. 

All of which events did not prevent Miss 

Blank from giving a dance. For even while 

these sinister details were being related, strains 

of ragtime floated down the stairs, and there 

could be heard overhead the patter of Miss 

A6 



LIFE IN CORK 

Blank's guests and there could even be per- 
ceived Miss Blank's lady and gentlemen friends 
sitting out on sofas and in corners. 

And you heard snatches of conversation like 
this : 

"Well, Mr. Murphy, we haven't seen much 
of you lately?" 

"No, Miss O'Hara, I've given up social life. 
I've taken to golf." 

"Come and look us up one day " etc. 

Nor did the desperate events aforementioned 
prevent the big new tea-shop on Patrick Street 
from being filled with the rank and fashion of 
Cork of a Saturday afternoon. Here every- 
body seemed to know everybody and here I was 
introduced to two ladies, mother and sister of 
a prosperous merchant, who a few days before 
had had a bad fright. With the son of the 
former they had been rambling about the cliff 
of an old quarry on the outskirts of the city 
and had reached the highest part of it when an 
armed load of Black and Tans appeared be- 
neath and shouted to them to come down and 

identify themselves. They proceeded to de- 

47 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

scend as best they could but were told they 
were not moving fast enough and found half 
a dozen rifles levelled at them. It was not a 
laughing matter then ! 

Isolated, burnt-out houses confronted you on 
many Cork streets, and you were told that they 
had once been Sinn Fein clubs. But when, in 
the evening, you saw the aged shawled women 
sitting gossiping in rows by the Mall waterside 
with the sunshine warming the grey stone 
bridge and the old houses beyond fringed with 
new green of flowering chestnuts, it was diffi- 
cult to believe that the city had passed through 
such stressful times. You entered the Town 
Club nearby and found men dining and drink- 
ing and playing cards together in civilised com- 
fort without reference to politics or religion. 
A matter of the first importance is a golf 
handicap that is to be played off on the follow- 
ing day; a matter for some resentment is the 
fact that an officer has taken to playing his 
round with an armed escort, thereby chal- 
lenging Sinn Fein retribution upon the 

greens ! 

48 



LIFE IN CORK 

One was repeatedly assured in Cork that 
militant Sinn Fein was a Young Man's Move- 
ment exclusively — that the parents disap- 
proved, indeed begged their sons not to partic- 
ipate in political activity. During a long wait 
at the Barrack gate one afternoon, I found a 
middle-aged, respectable-looking woman who 
carried a small basket and a brown-paper 
parcel pleading for an interview with a son who 
was awaiting his trial. The sentry at the gate 
was uncouth but not unkind. 

"Too late to-day, missis. You can see him 
to-morrow between 11 and 12, or 2 and 3." 

"What can I bring him, please — cigarettes 
— cake — tea?" 

"Oh ! anything you Hke !" 

She went away presently, muttering through 
tears, "Maybe he'll be released." 

It was difficult to believe that that woman 
counselled ambush, treachery, murder; but in 
Ireland they say, "You never know." 

And there were incidents of another sort. 

There was a calm spring evening when I made 

49 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

my way out to Blackrock and walked back 
along the river-road. Near the city at an open 
ground where children play, high commotion 
prevailed. Mothers, fathers, children, and pas- 
sers-by were all jabbering together and point- 
ing in the direction of the town. Somebody's 
child, it appeared, had been kidnapped by a 
mysterious individual in a motor-car. 

"No Irishman did that," caught my ear as 
I passed; "it's some bastard of an English- 
man." 

One later evening I came to an unlovely 
burnt-out villa on the outskirts, on the front 
of which was scrawled "Up, Dublin !" between 
two rudely-painted shamrocks. Beneath was 
a sort of coat-of-arms consisting of two grey- 
hounds, heads above a scroll upon which was 
inscribed the word "Libertas." Beneath this, 
again, ran the inscription, "Remember 1916! 
Irishmen, join the I.R.A." 

But the best commentary on daily life in 

Cork was a local newspaper placard at a street 

corner : 

50 



THE WEEK'S WARFARE 



MURDER BY INSANE PROFESSOR 



CAUGHT AT DRILL 



FIVE CIVILIANS KILLED 



GARDENING AND POULTRY NOTES 



TALKS ON HEALTH 



ALL THE USUAL FEATURES 



CHAPTER IV 

TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

AN introduction from Dublin brought me 
into touch with an obliging intermediary 
in the city of Cork through whom I was en- 
abled to approach two of the leading Republi- 
cans in the South. 

In England it had seemed a curious feature 
of the Irish situation — though one resulting 
almost inevitably from the rapid evolution of 
Sinn Fein — that while our '"governing classes" 
had been stirred to the depths by the war in 
Ireland, the leaders of that war on the oppos- 
ing side were all but unknown even by name. 
In Dublin, Mr. de Valera and Messieurs 
Michael Collins and Richard Mulcahy had 
proved elusive. And to me, as to most English- 
men, they represented, in the one case a nebu- 
lous and visionary being, a leader of Irish 
ideaUsm though not necessarily of militant 

52 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

Republicanism, in the other something sinistet 
and ominous, something vaguely, indefinitely 
hostile. 

It seemed not less important to get an idea 
of the character and attitude of the Sinn Fein 
leaders, because at this date, April 23rd, Lord 
Derby, disguised as "Mr. Edwards," was 
known to have just left Dublin: and he the 
last, but not the least of a long succession of 
peace-makers whose names included Lord 
Haldane (early in April) and (in March) two 
prominent young Unionist Members of Par- 
liament. 

It thus came about that, accompanied by a 
friend, I entered the City Hall. Here stood 
a long queue of respectable-looking people, in- 
cluding young girls and middle-aged men and 
women, waiting, I was informed, to receive 
their dole (£1 to £2 a week) from the fund 
subscribed by the United States of America 
and the City of Cork for sufferers in the "war." 
They looked the sort of people who, in peace- 
able times, would have earned an income of 

£1 to £2 a day. 

53 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

We passed through the Assize Court with its 
judges' bench, its old-fashioned prisoners' dock, 
and the insignia of British justice — a rather 
superfluous emblem amid those dusty sur- 
roundings — embroide^'ed above the judge's 
chair. We entered a rather bare little room 
where, seated at a table facing the door, was 
a slight, keen-looking, clean-shaven man darkly 
clothed and about 35 years of age. Barry M. 
Egan reminds one of certain symbolists of the 
French Revolution. Here were the pallid, al- 
most ill-looking features, the calm formal man- 
ner, the thin, precise lips of — a doctrinaire? 
When this man spoke, it was coldly and de- 
liberately. He was unsparing; he was polite. 

Such was the Deputy-Lord Mayor of Cork, 
whose big jewellery business was burned down 
in December 1920. Mr. Egan spoke with a 
frankness for which I felt truly and deeply 
obliged, giving in reasoned and passionless 
terms the Republican standpoint. 

He was crisp. And if message there was 
to -people on this side of the Irish Sea, it was 
this: 

54 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

"Get out!" 

"Get out!" he added sharply. "We don't 
object to you personally but— leave us in peace ! 
We don't want to be a pawn in your politics. 
We are ready for war or peace, and the deci- 
sion lies with you." 

I put to him the question : 

"Do you think it possible that some liberal 
measure of self-government within the Empire 
—Dominion Home Rule, for instance— would 
satisfy the aspirations of your people?" 

"That, and all kindred questions," he an- 
swered, "are matters for the consideration of 
President de Valera and the elected representa- 
tives of the Irish people— Dail Eireann. It 
is not for me to express an opinion. But this 
much I can say. Whatever is oifered, what- 
ever settlement is proposed by your Govern- 
ment, must be backed by something more 
tangible than promises. Of promises we've 
had enough and more than enough in Ireland. 
Now we want — at least — pledges." 

"What would you suggest as a substantial 

pledge?" 

55 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"Clear out your armed forces, put your cards 
on the table. That's business." 

"I hear unofficial negotiations are going on 
in Dublin at this moment. What is your opin- 
ion of their prospect?'' 

"This is a matter for the Irish people. It 
is a question for 'we ourselves.' English 
politicians had much better keep out of it. I 
believe Lord Derby is an honest man and a 
gentleman ; no doubt he means well. But any- 
thing that is done has got to be done 'over the 
counter.' We want no secret negotiations. 
President de Valera has made that clear." 

"You do not object to us as a nation, then, 
but to the Forces and methods of the Crown?" 

"As a nation you are responsible for our 
sufferings during three hundred years. You 
don't understand us, and you don't attempt to 
and I don't believe you want to. The English 
people could stop this reign of terror to-morrow 
if they had a mind to. But how many English- 
men have ever read a page of Irish history? 
The Government of Ireland has always been 
in the hands of the ^governing' classes in Eng- 

56 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

land; and what have they ever done for us? 
You accuse Germany of tearing up a treaty as 
though it were a scrap of paper. From 1782 
to 1798 we had a treaty with England. She 
tore it up in 1800.'* 

"The Land Purchase Act of 1903 !" I 

began. 

"Was that Home Rule? Was that the ful- 
filment of your promises? The fact remains, 
my friend, that a population of eight and a half 
millions has sunk to four millions, that year 
after year the very life-blood of this country, 
its finest young men and young women, has 
flowed out of it. There is room and there is 
work in this country for twelve millions of 
people. A market three times as great as at 
present is waiting to be developed, three or 
four times the amount of goods might be manu- 
factured. And — always remember — ^you ar^ 
our natural market : your prosperity and ours 
depend one upon the other.'' 

"In case of war," he added, "why should we 
side against you? Why should we oppose ouf 
own best interests?" 

57 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Of violence (and its reactions) Mr. Egan 
said: 

"Murders and crime we all execrate. We 
don't want war; it's imposed on us. We'd 
much sooner have our men tilling the fields. 
But, I ask again, who is responsible for these 
things, who is responsible for the present reign 
of terror?" 

I reminded the Deputy-Lord Mayor of the 
Prime Minister's statement in his Reply to 
the Bishop of Chelmsford (April 19th, 1921) : 

Why was the Auxiliary Division constituted? 
Authority for the formation of the Auxiliary Divi- 
sion, which is composed entirely of ex-officers of the 
Navy, Army, and Air Force, was given on the 10th of 
July, 1920, after fifty-six policemen, four soldiers, and 
seventeen civilians had been brutally assassinated, and 
it did not come into really effective operation until 
over a hundred policemen had been murdered in cold 
blood. 

Mr. Egan simply handed me a typewritten 
document giving Sinn Fein's version of the 
events which led up to the first shootings, with 
the remark: 

"You'd better not let the Black and Tans 

58 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

catcH you with this." Later, I had reason to 
remember that caution. 

"It is absurd, therefore, to say," the Deputy- 
Lord Mayor went on when I had read the 
typescript, "that murders of poHce caused the 
policy of which they were the result. It was, 
Gessler began it, not Tell. And if there have 
been a hundred armed police killed, there have 
been hundreds of unarmed Irish killed. The 
plan of this so-called Government is not to 
suppress murder and restore law and order, 
but to suppress a people and to restore over 
them a lawless domination whose infamies 
they hate and whose spirit they despise." 

"But how do you defend the ambushes and 
the killing of soldiers and policemen in cold 
blood by men not in uniform?" 

"An ambush is a legitimate act of war. 
Ambushers should be treated, therefore, as 
prisoners of war. The LR.A. do not fight in 
uniform, but the Boers did not fight in uniform 
in the Boer War, and they were recognised as 
combatants. Your men go about armed to the 
teeth. They murder and terrorise indiscrimi- 

59 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

nately. What the Germans did in Belgium, 
you are doing here/* 

"And the I.R.A. 'executions'?'' 

"I believe that no 'execution' is carried out 
by the I.R.A. except after the most careful 
investigation, and when the accused has been 
found guilty of being a murderer or a spy. 
Remember, we're at war. Fighting's only 
just begun. So far it's been a mere skirmish. 
You shot hundreds of Germans in cold blood 
in France; you shoot Irishmen in cold blood in 
Cork Barracks; for every one of these the 
I.R.A shoots one of yours." 

"Have you come much into contact with the 
Crown Forces yourself?" I ventured. 

Egan smiled. Our mutual friend answered 
my question. 

"The military invaded the City Hall during 
the Deputy-Lord Mayor's inaugural speech. 
You were searched by a subaltern of the Hamp- 
shire Regiment, weren't you, Mr. Egan?" 

The Deputy-Lord Mayor nodded. 

"But I finished my speech," he said, again 
smiling. 

60 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

His last words were: 

"We want one thing — a Republic. And 
we'll have it in spite of you." 

That same evening I called upon Alderman 
Liamon de Roiste (William Roche), M.P., at 
the offices of the Irish Industrial Development 
Association. In him I found a typical Repub- 
lican of the Cork school — one less pronounced 
perhaps but not less advanced than Barry 
Egan. He, too, is an "intellectual," but a hu- 
morous glint behind spectacles and an occa- 
sional droop at the corners of the mouth seem 
to betray a less sternness and a warmer hu- 
manity. 

Liamon de Roiste is a native of Cork and 
by profession a secondary school-teacher. He 
was employed on the staff of the Cork School 
of Commerce before occupying his present po- 
sition as Secretary of the Irish Industrial 
Development Association. He is senior Mem- 
ber of Parliament for Cork County, a member 

of the City Corporation and of Dail Eireann. 

61 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

My first question was: 

"Do you consider that all Ireland with the 
exception of Ulster supports the Separatist 
movement, or only a section of it?'' 

"As a whole, yes, though of course different 
forces operate." 

"You don't think the people are influenced 
by the actions of a few dominant personali- 
ties?" 

"As to that, one might say of all countries 
that their peoples are led by the most forceful 
personalities. England and Mr. Lloyd George, 
for instance." 

Liamon de Roiste's eyes twinkled. 

"No. The old people are Sinn Feiners be- 
cause many suffered imprisonment in Land 
League and Gaelic League days ; a certain num- 
ber of middle-aged people remain Constitu- 
tional Nationalists ; the young people are afire 
with patriotism." 

"What then brought about the apparently 
abrupt change from Constitutional National- 
ism to Sinn Fein?" 

"Speaking chronologically, I think the for- 

62 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

mation of the Ulster Volunteers in 1914 and 
the counter-formation of the National Volun- 
teers gave the first impetus. Then the failure 
to operate Mr. Asquith's Home Rule Act after 
it had received the Royal Assent. (By that 
time, you see, we were getting a bit fed up 
with English promises.) Hostility to England 
undoubtedly grew under Maxwell's unceasing 
prosecutions for sedition, suppressions of 
newspapers, and perpetual searches and im- 
prisonments in 1914, 1915, and 1916. The Eas- 
ter Rebellion in spite of its failure drew all 
Irishmen together, and the executions that fol- 
lowed made an enduring impression. All the 
while we were told we were fighting for the 
principle of Self -Determination and the Rights 
of Small Nations. Then came the Peace Con- 
ference, Wilsonism,' and the League of Na- 
tions. These set people thinking and gave a 
constructive impetus to the movement. Since 
1916, you must understand, the state of affairs 
has become steadily worse. The real change 
of feeling in this city began with the murder 
of Lord Mayor MacCurtain. The Govern- 

63 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

mentis militant policy has had exactly the re- 
verse effect of that intended." 

"But how do you reconcile unprecedented 
prosperity — which I suppose you'll admit — 
with armed insurrection?" 

"People fight best on a full stomach, you 
know. Ireland, of course, is an agricultural 
country, and tillage certainly was stimulated 
by the war — always is. Industrially, we've 
probably gone back, if anything." 

"In your opinion, has Bolshevism or the 
Third International anything in common with 
Sinn Fein?" 

"Nonsense — absolutely." 

"And to-day would you say the Irish peo- 
ple are definitely anti-English or only anti- 
Government?" 

"We feel no hostility to the English people 
or to the Army; only to the Irregular Forces of 
the Crown and other instruments of your Gov- 
ernment." 

" 'Black Sunday' in Dublin made a terrible 
impression in England." 

^One cannot condone murder. But are you 

64 



(li 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

by chance aware that a man was shot here the 
other day for being in possession of a revol- 



ver: 

tc 



What do you consider the shortest way to 



peace?" 






'A Republic/' 

Would the Irish people accept anything 
less?" 

'The tendency of all modern States, in my 
belief, is to pull away from the centre rather 
than obey a centripetal force. Dominion Home 
Rule has been talked about, but I would prefer 
not to dogmatise about it while the matter 
is under consideration by the parties con- 
cerned." 

*'You can define what you mean by Domin- 
ion Home Rule, though?" 

'Well, it must be the real thing as Canada 
and Australia have it. There must be no Eng- 
lish garrison or control of our ports; foreign 
affairs must be a matter of joint consultation. 
A self-governing Dominion must have iSscal 
autonomy, of course." 

"And Ulster?" 

65 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"She must come into the national Parlia- 
ment on the same terms as the other provinces 
with perhaps some additional representation/' 

"Would that meet her views?'' 

Mr. de Roiste hesitated, stroked his chin, 
and then said: 

"A Provincial Federation on Swiss lines 
might be worth considering." He paused, then 
added, "Ireland, you Icnow, is not suited to a 
strongly bureaucratic Government." 

I put a curious but (to me) interesting ques- 
tion: 

"It might strike a casual student of Irish 
history that the genius of your race is not truly 
Republican, or even Democratic. What do you 
think?" 

Liamon de Roiste smiled. 

"Ah — that's looking a long way ahead. But 
it may be as you say. . . ." 

My last inquiry was : 

"Have you hopes of an early peace, and 
would peace bring friendship with it?" 

"Ireland could never be more hostile than 

she is now. Given peace, she has no reason 

66 



TALKS WITH SINN FEIN 

to be hostile. All our economic interest, all our 
future, in fact, are bound up with yours. Your 
Navy controls the seas. During the war Hol- 
land could at any time have been occupied by 
Germany, couldn't she? Can a great country 
like yours have anything to fear from a little 
one living within its shadow?'' 

I casually gathered that Mr. Augustine Bir- 
rell represented Sinn Fein's idea of a good 
Qiief Secretary — or rather, "the best of a bad 
lot." 

There were one or two other leading Sinn 
Feiners in Cork City at this time with whom I 
should have been glad to make acquaintance 
but who were what was technically known as 
"on the run." The majority of them subse- 
quently took up their residence at a bleak spot 
called Ballykinlar on the coast of Down. In- 
cluded among them was a certain Walsh, M.P., 
member of Dail Eireann for Cork City, who 
for some time held a position under the Board 
of Agriculture. But it was Liamon de Roiste 
who, after being "on the run" for several 

^1 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

months, claimed arrears of salary due from the 
Technical Board under which he had been em- 
ployed on account of absence from his duties 
"for reasons beyond his control." 
The claim failed! 



CHAPTER V 

TALKS WITH SOUTHERN UNIONISTS 

WHATEVER notions or preconceptions a 
man brought with him to Cork, the site 
of the burnings demanded a first-hand expla- 
nation. Nor did he usually have long to wait 
for one. 

"I thought there was something up that 
evening," an early acquaintance volunteered. 
"My wife and I were walking along Patrick 
Street about nine o'clock when they came 
charging up and down, lorry-loads of them, 
firing their guns, shouting, and doing every- 
thing they could to frighten the people ofif the 
streets. It's a crowded time here, nine o'clock, 
and I heard one or two shout, 'Get along home.' 
So I said to my wife, *Come along! We'd best 
get home.' In the night she woke me up. 

'Look/ she said, and it was like daylight 

69 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

through the blind. I looked out and saw the 
town was on fire." 

Another citizen, a municipal official, said: 

"I shall never forget that night. I was at it 
from half -past ten till daybreak, walking about 
the streets, carrying buckets of water, and try- 
ing to get the soldiers and police to lend a hand. 
. . . Did I see them at it? Well, I didn't be- 
cause they cleared everybody off the streets be- 
fore curfew. But when the fires had fairly 
got a hold and I was sent for, the place was 
alive with them — some drunk or at any rate 
behaving like maniacs." 

"Lots of people saw them at it from their 
bedroom windows," was the account of a third 
resident. "Why, there's not the shadow of a 
doubt about who did it. You might as well 
say the man who stops the traffic in Piccadilly 
Circus is not a policeman !" 

"Sir Hamar Greenwood said in the House 
of Commons " 

Laughter greeted that name. It was in the 

Cork Club. One felt like a man who, alone in 

70 



TALKS WITH SOUTHERN UNIONISTS 

a company of experts, has made a foolish re- 
mark. 

''Sir Hamar Greenwood !!" 

"Talk about Welshmen . . .!!" 

More laughter. And it is of no use denying 
some rude things were said. 

"He's the chap who talked about 'the crowds 
in the streets at 2.30 a.m./ when curfew was at 
10 p.m. !" 

"And the fire 'spreading' from Grant's in 
Patrick Street to the Carnegie Library, eh?" 

"Well, the place seems quiet enough now, 
anyway." 

"Yes — till it wakes up — or till to-night — or 
till to-morrow morning," said someone face- 
tiously. 

" 'K' Division were in Cork at the time," 

remarked the Town Clerk, as if that explained 

everything. "After the burnings, I went up to 

see General Higginson at Victoria Barracks. 

I wanted a guarantee that the outrages would 

not be repeated. He said : 'Anyone, police or 

civilian, who's found looting will be shot.' Next 

day 'K' Division left the town." 

71 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

What the Chief Secretary said in the House 

of Commons on December 14, 1920, was: 

At 9.30 p.m. the police in Cork City received a mes- 
sage stating that a fire had broken out in the large 
premises of Messrs. Alexander Grant & Co., in Patrick 
Street, and shortly afterwards other fires were notified 
as having occurred on the premises of Messrs. Cash & 
Co. of the Munster Arcade. . . . Strenuous efforts 
were made by the fire brigade to extinguish the flames, 
but despite their efforts the fire spread to a number of 
other buildings, including the City Hall, Carnegie 
Library, and fifteen other large business premises. 

I repaired to the starting-point. A mush- 
room building had sprung up where the old 
Grant's had been. Looking at my watch, I 
walked at a leisurely pace along Patrick Street, 
turned to the right down Pembroke Street, to 
the left along the Mall, crossed the river by the 
bridge, and found myself facing the blackened 
red-brick of the Carnegie Library with the. 
Town Hall beyond. The time taken was four- 
and-a-half minutes. Buildings and the river 
separate the two points; one notices no signs 
of burning except at the corner of Cook Street 

nearly midway between. 

***** 
72 



TALKS WITH SOUTHERN UNIONISTS 

"Everybody's taken a step to the left. Your 
old Nationalists have joined pacifist Sinn Fein; 
pacifist Sinn Fein has become active Republi- 
can; we Unionists take our stand on the old 
Nationalism. Although," he added, "Dillonism 

is dead." 

He was an old-fashioned Unionist who had 
lived a lifetime in Cork. He was weary, he 
declared, and he was sick of it all — the eternal 
politics, the fighting, the uncertainty of every- 
thing. 

"Cork used to be a good enough place to live 
in. We prospered under the Union— till 1916. 
We had four packs of hounds within accessible 
distance, we had boating and sailing, and — 
well, they reckoned it one of the best military 
stations in Ireland. Now I daren't motor 
seven miles to the inland golf course." 

"And what is there to look forward to?" he 
went on. "Nobody wants the Partition Act — 
nobody in the South cares a brass button for 
it. Good or bad, it's no use giving a man some- 
thing he doesn't want. . . . And the finance of 
the thing is rotten. Look here! An already 

73 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

over-taxed country is to pay eighteen millions 
annually to the Crown Exchequer " 

" for three years," I interjected. 

" for services it doesn't want. The dual 

legislature is enough in itself to ruin this un- 
fortunate country. Then they've washed out 
the Excess Profits Duty (without a thought 
for their commitments on the basis of it) and 
Austen Chamberlain's existing basis of reve- 
nue and expenditure, namely, the seven-and-a- 
half millions 'surplus' is converted into a deficit 
of two-and-a-half millions. And that's not all. 
The expenditure of the Irish Government is 
the last charge on Irish Revenue under the Act. 
The eighteen millions tribute takes priority. 
The cost of the Reserved Services takes pri- 
ority. The Police are a Reserved Service. In 
1919-20, the 'police vote' was three-and-three- 
quarter millions. This year they say the force 
will cost over seven millions. And so on. Well 
— it'll hit the North harder in proportion than 
it will us. If the Act was going to bring peace 
one would grin and bear it. But it's not. . . ." 

One had been prepared for this "peace" note 

74 



TALKS WITH SOUTHERN UNIONISTS 

in Dublin. The bewilderment and vexation of 
men whose business was dwindling and whose 
lives were turned upside down did not surprise 
— or the yearning to keep outside politics alto- 
gether. What surprised — one at any rate who 
had marched with the Covenanters in 1913 and 
seen the oath taken under the Ulster leader's 
own eyes — what surprised was the divorce 
from the North, a coldness, a sense of separa- 
tion, segregation, divergent interests even. 

The first remarks on the boycott that reached 
my ears came from a director of the Munster 
and Leinster Bank. He pointed out that no 
Belfast goods were to be bought in the shops, 
that no more than could be helped were per- 
mitted to cross the Ulster border, and that no 
Belfast traveller did any business in Cork. 

"Serve 'em right, too," was the gist of this 

gentleman's remarks. '^They only think of 

themselves. They're a lot of narrow-minded 

bigots. Down here, at any rate, religion 

makes no difference between man and man or 

in social or commercial life. The Government 

have given us a Roman Catholic Lord Lieu- 

75 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

tenant under the impression, I suppose, that he 
will be welcomed on religious grounds. It only 
shows how little they know of the South. I 
assure you that side of it leaves us here abso- 
lutely cold. The only thing the country wants 
is peace — peace under a liberalised form of 
self-government, but peace first and a chance 
of settling down and making money and enjoy- 
ing the fruits of these last prosperous years. 
That's worth more to us than any political sys- 
tem." 

This cry greeted one wherever prosperous 
and hard-working citizens met. An unenviable 
position was that of a Cork newspaper-man 
whose respected faculty in the town lay be- 
tween the contentions of all parties. His 

defence of the Government of Ireland Act — 
and he seemed to be its only defender — was 
based on the belief that if the Irish people as a 
whole desired a Republic or a Dominion, they 
desired one thing more — a settlement. He re- 
garded the Act, moreover, as a good one in 
itself, not indeed as an instrument capable of 

settling the Irish Question, but as a transition 

76 



TALKS WITH SOUTHERN UNIONISTS 

measure which by bringing the parties together 
and, as a pledge — that pledge so often de- 
manded of the Government by the irrecon- 
cilables — contained the germ and the promise 
of better things. 

These views, too moderate perhaps, too 
hopeful to prevail in the country as a whole — 
and yet perhaps shared by a larger proportion 
of far-sighted Irishmen than dare own to the 
fact — these views may be crystallised as fol- 
lows: 

"Eight to ten per cent, of the population 
favours violence, and these almost exclusively 
the younger generation." 

Another local man here intervened, saying 
that ht put the proportion higher — nearer 
twenty per cent. 

"In the priesthood, for instance," the first 
speaker continued, "nearly all the older men 
are Constitutional Nationalists, only a propor- 
tion of the younger ones are complacent 
towards Sinn Fein. It is the same with the 
people. The bulk of the country longs for 
peace under a decent measure of Home Rule. 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

A constitution which would leave naval and 
military control and foreign affairs as at pres- 
ent, whilst, giving Ireland the right to levy her 
own taxes, customs, and excise, would meet 
the views of all ^parties, providing a free vote 
could be obtained. As to the amount of any 
subsidy to be paid by Ireland for Imperial 
services, this ought to be estimated by an inde- 
pendent firm of assessors. The sine qua non 
of any permanent settlement is that through 
the Council of Ireland or by some other means, 
South and North shall eventually unite in a 
single legislature." 

If this was the belief of an individual, it was 
shared by a dozen others — bankers, wine-mer- 
chants, municipal officials, journalists : even by 
one or two shopkeepers and workmen who 
cling to the old Nationalism. 

And there were such. The most representa- 
tive of them, a genial hotel concierge with a 
shrewd wit and intelligence, is known to wide 
circles in England and Ireland as "Florrie." 
Florrie is a Nationalist of the Redmondite 

school, and a loyal liege of the Empire. Rather 

78 



^'ALKS WITH SOUTHERN UNIONISTS 

past fifty, he declares that he has been a poli- 
tician since he was a boy. We spoke one morn- 
ing of Chief Secretaries. 

"The only man who can save Ireland," said 
he, "is Lord MacDonnell Why have they 
never made him Chief Secretary? He under- 
stood Ireland better than any man before or 
since his time — a splendid fellow. Lord Tal- 
bot [sic] may be all right, but we don't know 
him and he doesn't know us. Why don't they 
give us an Irish Lord Lieutenant — Lord Ken- 
mare, for instance? We all know him. If he's 
outside politics, so much the better. Then 
Granard — he's an Irishman: and Lord Dun- 
raven — a great man. Plenty of good men, but 
they send us an Englishman we know nothing 
of. If you ask about those we've had, Aber- 
deen was the best of them " 

"He wasn't very popular in Dublin," inter- 
rupted somebody. "They say in Dublin he 
wasn't too fond of spending," 

"Never mind ! Aberdeen was all right. And 
so was Lady Aberdeen. People don't like see- 
ing a lot of money spent in these times. The 

79 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Aberdeens went about the country, and got to 
know the people. Everybody knew them. 
That's the great thing in Ireland." 

''Yes, Balfour was all right," said Florrie in 
reply to a question. ''He was a just man. His 
mistake was the narrow-gauge railways. 
Wyndham? — ^yes. His Land Purchase Act 
was good, but IVe always heard Lord Dun- 
raven and Lord MacDonnell had more to do 
with that than Wyndham had. Bryce was the 
best of the lot, though — the best Chief Secre- 
tary Ireland's ever had." 

The tangled skeins, the perplexities of Cork 
were finally drawn together by an elderly Con- 
servative, who seemed to typify that separate 
entity in Ireland which has so definitely 
emerged since Lord Carson set his seal to the 
Partition Act — the Southern Unionist. Here 
was a man English rather than Scotch; Irish 
rather than Unionist: a man whose heart 
swelled with pride as he told you that his son 
had fought in the British Army during the 
war, whose business connections with England 



TALKS WITH SOUTHERN UNIONISTS 

were frequent and firm: withal a man who 
loves Ireland and recognises his identity with 
her future, whatever it may be. He said: 

"What's wanted is for the leaders to get 
together and settle this thing. They could do 
it in a couple of hours if they meant business. 
Only don't let English politicians interfere — 
they don't understand us. Mr. Lloyd George 
ought to come out in the House of Commons 
and say what he is prepared to give us. In the 
long run, this is a question of each side giving 
something away and Ulster getting the safe- 
guards she wants in a Dublin Parliament. 
Things can't go on as they are. We are no- 
body's enemy and nobody's friend. And both 
sides have made mistakes. The Black Sunday 
shootings in Dublin were a terrible mistake. 
People here groaned when they heard of them. 
On Sunday week, six soldiers were shot in dif- 
ferent parts of this city in reprisal for the exe- 
cutions at the barracks. Then the Black and 
Tans " 

He stopped, but I pressed him. 

"The fact is, 'K' Division — not the military 

81 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

— were intolerable. At the same time, every- 
body admits the discipline has improved since 
they left the town. I personally had only one 
experience of that lot. I was walking home 
one night before curfew when a patrol stopped 
me, and although they could see I was an 
elderly man and in fact knew me for a loyalist, 
a young cub of nineteen searched me, swore 
at me, and knocked my hat off. It's incidents 
like those that turn moderate people into ex- 
tremists as much as, or nearly as much as, 
material losses do." 



CHAPTER VI 

LIFE IN MALLOW 

IT seemed very curious that among those 
who knew local conditions best and had 
lived through recent years in Cork, a complete 
difference of opinion prevailed as to the prac- 
ticability of walking the twenty miles between 
Cork and Mallow. Some were willing to bet 
that the traveller would not cover half the dis- 
tance without getting into trouble ; others that 
he would certainly be held up, but, if capable 
of giving a satisfactory account of himself, 
would be allowed to proceed; others, again, 
asserted that he would not be seriously inter- 
fered with unless he interfered with anyone 
else. 

There was another question to be consid- 
ered. Was it advisable to carry a pass or 
passes? To this question, again, some said 

**Yes" and some said "No," while a third party 

83 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

advised carrying the one pass but not the other. 
For that which had been unobtainable in Dub- 
lin, help and patience had secured in Cork. In 
addition to an informal passport from a Re- 
publican quarter, and that furnished by Dub- 
lin Castle, I held an envelopeful of English 
references. Finally I decided to carry both 
passes. 

And in the upshot, this first stage on the road 
to Belfast proved to be a pleasant walk. . . , 

The morning of April 25th broke chill and 
cloudy. The road to Mallow follows for some 
distance a gradually rising valley. Donkey- 
carts loaded with peat and vegetables making 
their way towards the city, urged forward by 
ragged boys, occasionally passed. Mile out a 
lorry-load of soldiers, shouting and singing, 
rushed by at breakneck speed. Another passed 
between Ballynamona and Mallow, and in each 
case I prepared for the worst, but the lorries 
raced on. Otherwise the road was strangely 
and significantly empty. 

Once two men and a youth digging or plant- 
ing potatoes in a field, ran down to the wall and 

84 



LIFE IN MALLOW 

looked after me when I had passed, presumably 
because I was a stranger. Again, an uncouth- 
looking man appeared half a mile away over 
the rim of the hill and made obliquely for the 
road, running. While we steadily approached 
one another I apprehended the "trouble," which 
I had been warned to expect, but he doubled 
crazily on across the highway and disap- 
peared. 

After a while the sun came out and set the 
gorse aflame. Patches of barley and potatoe:^ 
alternated with gorse and heather. Larks 
sang. The smiling springtime landscape, 
brown and yellow and dull green, would have 
infected one with its own gaiety had one been 
less conscious of the grim visagt behind. 

There was a complete dearth of traffic. 
Every two or three miles occurred loose places 
in the road's surface, as though it had been 
dug up and replaced. A definite reminder of 
the realities of the countryside came beyond 
the village of Blackpool. Where a grey stone 
bridge crosses a stream which sings and rip- 
ples down a narrow ravine, a neat trench four 

85 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

feet deep by three broad had been dug across 
the road. 

The greater trouble was a rucksack. And 
what a perverse thing a rucksack can be! It 
can cut your shoulder like a razor, cause you 
to walk lop-sided, and until the two of you 
become better acquainted, make you feel old 
before your time. . . . 

So to Mallow in the late afternoon, a curi- 
ous peace lying upon it, a dreaming quiet 
creeping down from heather-clad mountains. 
This is a grey town with a long straggling 
street leading from the market-place to the 
railway station ; it lies in a pastoral country. 
I paused a long while on the old stone bridge 
which spans the Blackwater, resting and 
looking down into turquoise and amethyst 
depths that reflected a blue sky, reeds, lawn- 
like grass, the rounded tops of leafing elms, 
browns and blacks of the lower hills. It was 
like a little thing of Corot. From some ruins 
on the further bank came chatter and 

squawking of jackdaws. An old man leant 

86 



LIFE IN MALLOW 

against the stone parapet, smoking his pipe, 
and spitting reflectively. 

"Yon's the ruins of Mallow Castle," he 
said, "built 600 years ago by the Earl of 
Desmond. They used to be covered with 
ivy till the Black and Tans came and stripped 
it all off." 

Then : 

"There used to be grouse on the moun- 
tain. I don't know whether there are any 
now. . . ." 

A mile from Mallow lies the home of Will- 
iam O'Brien — a white country-house sur- 
rounded by a large garden, grass fields, and 
fine trees. I found the old Independent Na- 
tionalist writing in a room flooded with the 
late afternoon sunshine, filled with the scent 
of spring flowers. 

It's a pleasant thing, isn't it, to see a man 

thus taking his ease in the aftermath of a 

stormy life. The fine head, the whitening 

beard, the restless eyes smouldering behind 

glasses — these are no less formidable than 

they were in the days when William O'Brien 

87 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

galvanised the House of Commons into spas- 
modic attention; the manner and the man- 
nerisms no less ardent. 

"I have nothing to say," was the discour- 
aging opening remark. ''I have said my say. 
My friends and myself v^arned them of what 
was coming years ago. We could have 
shewn them the way out through a policy 
of conference and conciliation. They paid 
no heed to us. Now they've gone back to it 
again, but they've got to deal with men who 
act first and talk afterwards." 

That note dominated our discussion. 

''You've come to the wrong man, my 
friend. Nothing I can say will make any 
difference. Nobody's views count for any- 
thing in Ireland to-day except those of a 
member of the Dail Eireann." 

I continued, nevertheless, to press for a 
more definite expression of opinion, 

"While English parties believed me to be 
an enemy of England they respected me, 
they treated me fairly; directly I ceased to 



LIFte IN MALLOW 

give them trouble, they thought me no longer 
worth attending to." 

Contempt of English politicians, disgust 
with English evasions, anger and horror at 
the happenings of recent years — these were 
the recurring periods in a motif of infinite 
regret. 

"The whole story of our relations with 
England, the whole story of my own polit- 
ical life, has been one of trust and good faith 
on our part, of perfidy and broken promises 
on yours. Now you see the result." 

William O'Brien's voice shook and his 
hands trembled when he mentioned the name 
of Lloyd George. We were back in the 1917 
Convention days. 

"It was an utter fraud. It was a sham and 

a fraud, and a way of wasting time until 

America was brought into the war. Mr. 

Lloyd George never meant it to succeed. I 

was in a position to guarantee that Sinn Fein 

would be represented at a small conference. 

They refused my offer, they chose instead an 

unwieldy body of seventy Molly Maguires, 

89 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

every one of whom has since been rejected 
at the polls/' 

"Redmond! ..." 

"Redmond?" he echoed, "a figure-head! A 
respectable Irish gentleman, but a figure- 
head in the hands of less scrupulous men." 

I tried to bring the Independent leader to the 
stress of more immediate events. 

"In anything I say I speak for myself. What 
I say counts for nothing. The conduct of af- 
fairs in this country is in the hands of the 
elected representatives of the Irish people." 

"Can nothing be done, then, to ease or to 
end the present state of affairs?" 

"YouVe brought it on yourselves, now — 
leave us alone !" 

I thought of Barry Egan's "Get out!" and 
mentioned the Crown Forces and the state of 
war in the South. 

"The methods of the Crown have embittered 
all Ireland for generations." 

He went on to speak of three local squires, 
one of them a retired Army officer, who had 
been assaulted; of incidents at Thurles and 

90 



LIFE IN MALLOW 

Fermoy; of alleged wanton shootings at civil- 
ians working in allotments and gardens, of 
wanton damage to property. 

I reminded him of the campaign of the Re- 
publican Army. He laughed — bitterly. 

"That only began after all open attempts to 
assert the will of the people had been savagely 
suppressed. In any case, it is a war of coun- 
try lads armed with shot-guns and spades and 
revolvers against all the might of England, 
and yet you are miserably failing to put down 
the rebellion you have provoked." 

His solitary light in night and storm was 
this : 

"IVe no doubt — and remember I speak for 
nobody but myself — I've no doubt a peace 
could be patched up still. But England's got 
to make the first offer. And she's got to back 
it up with some guarantee that she will keep 
her word. She's never yet made a definite 
offer." 

When we stood on the steps in the failing 

light, William O'Brien's face relaxed a little 

from its expression of severity and scorn. 

91 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"The tragedy of it all is that there never 
was a quieter or a Ijappier place than Mallow 
until this business began. The people will not 
submit to being driven and bullied, but they 
simply long for peace." 

Next morning I saw the blank space in the 
middle of Main Street, all stones and rubble 
and bits of wall where the Town Hall had 
stood. Up near the Court-house and again at 
the end of the street were gaps as in a row of 
teeth where houses seemed to have been razed 
to the ground. Bare grey walls enclosing a 
rubbishy space proclaimed where Mallow's 
creamery had been. I called on the priest, and 
was told he was ill in bed and that his curate 
was out. I then proceeded to the Protestant 
clergyman's house a mile away. It stands on 
a hill. 

Two knocks and a long interval of waiting 
brought a maid-servant. 

"What do you want?" 

"Can I see Canon ?'* 

"He's engaged.'* 

92 



(t 



LIFE IN MALLOW 



-when he's disengaged?'' 



Undisguisedly suspicious, she went to report 
to her master. Presently the Canon himself 
appeared. 

An unmistakable look came into his face 
when I asked if he could oblige me with his 
views upon local conditions? 

"My views ! Impossible, my dear sir. Why, 
it would be more than my life's worth. There's 
many a poor lad in these parts been laid under 
the sod for less than that." 

"Perhaps I haven't made myself clear? 
I'm " 

"I don't think you have." 

The door slammed. And there was an end 
of it. 

At the cross-roads by the railway bridge a 
man was standing. 

"Good morning to ye !" 

"Good morning!" 

"Well, things are bad in these parts. I wish 
they'd settle down. . . ." 

A total stranger ! A native ! This was very 

93 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

odd. It was my turn to cut the conversation 
short, and I did. 

At the Court-house, Quarter Sessions were 
being held. Soldiers and R.I.C. men lounged 
without; within, the little court was packed. 
There were two or three military officers and 
several soldiers and R.I.C. men, and at the 
back a heterogeneous collection of such ragged 
and neckerchiefed vagabonds as may only be 
found in an Irish Court of Justice. The dock 
was empty. A respectable-looking countryman 
in Sunday clothes was confronting from the 
witness-box a Jorrocks-faced judge. A law- 
yer in wig and gown with a most pugnacious 
face was cross-examining him in a pungent 
brogue. It was very stuffy — and very dull. I 
left them as I had found them, wearily hag- 
gling over a plot of grazing land said to have 
been misdevised in a dead man's will. 

A polite caretaker made me welcome to the 
town reading-room, where I had an appoint- 
ment with a local resident. 

"People are absolutely quiet here if they 

are left alone," the latter said. And in the 

94 



LIFE IN MALLOW 

plain but comfortable room with its armchairs 
and writing-table and newspapers like any vil- 
lage club-room in England, it was easily pos- 
sible to believe him. 

"Everybody knew each other and we were 
all the best of friends, as you might have 
judged for yourself if you had come in here of 
an evening. We have no religious differences. 
Politics never worried us much. 'Tis my opin- 
ion that people want a change, but they would 
be content with Dominion Home Rule or any 
generous measure of self-Government, provid- 
ing it brought peace. The Government of Ire- 
land Act is no use because it won't bring peace. 
We don't want an Irish army or navy, and we 
don't want separation from the Empire." 

I questioned him about the alleged Sinn Fein 
propaganda in the schools. 

"I don't know of any, though the Irish lan- 
guage is taught, of course." 

"What started the war here?" 

"The trouble began on September 28th of 
last year, when about fifty of the I.R.A. at- 
tacked the barracks. Nearly all the soldiers 

95 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

were out horse-watering. The first I knew 
of anything being wrong was about 9.30. I 
had just walked down to the office from my 
house when a soldier in his shirt-sleeves came 
galloping down the street on horseback. 
'Something's wrong/ I said to my clerk, but 
we agreed the horse had run away with him. 
Then they all came racing back. . . . Soon 
after we knew : the sentry had been shot dead, 
four hundred rifles had been taken, and car- 
ried off in motor-cars. You see, they were not 
local men. They'd come from a distance. 
Since then we've had no peace." 

The notorious affair at the railway station 
succeeded the killing of a District-Inspector's 
wife a month later. 

Eyes follow one fearfully rather than 
angrily in Mallow. 

That evening I turned down a narrow lane 
leading off the main street, and sought out the 
barracks. They were a smallish grey building 
at the end of the lane beyond some dingy-look- 
ing cottages. On the farther side were fields. 

96 



LIFE IN MALLOW 

I was surveying these environs at leisure^ 
with a view to reconstructing September's 
daring coup, when a voice called "Halt." 

Looking up, I found a sentry's bayonet lev- 
elled at me from a sort of platform which 
projected fiom the barrack-wall some twenty 
feet above the ground. 

At the same moment I felt a tap on the 
shoulder, and turning round stood face to face 
with a man in civilian clothes. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Oh! — ^just looking round." 

"Kindly accompany me to the police bar- 
racks." 



CHAPTER VII 

SOLDIER3 AND THE BLACK AND TANS 

HE was a plain-clothes constable. On the 
way to the police-barracks we had a 
few words. 

"What did you want to see at the barracks?" 

"A man was telling me about the attack in 
September. I thought Fd see the place for 
myself." 

"Rather a curious thing to do, looking about 
like that, wasn't it? Who and what are you, 
please?" 

Before I had time to explain, we arrived at 
the police-barracks. 

In a bare, comfortless room that was evi- 
dently used as a mess-room, six or seven Black 
and Tans were grouped around an aged Sinn 
Feiner, who was pouring forth a torrent of 
words in a perfectly incomprehensible ver- 
nacular. 

The policemen were laughing. They ap- 

98 



SOLDIERS AND THE BLACK AND TANS 

peared to be "ragging" the old man. Their 
attention, however, was immediately trans- 
ferred to myself. 

"I found this man looking round the bar- 
racks," was my introduction to the sergeant- 
in-charge. 

I bethought me of the pass and photograph 
in my pocket, signed, sealed, and delivered by 
Dublin Castle. I produced it. 

''These things can be faked," was the dis- 
couraging comment on what I had assumed to 
be a short-cut to immediate release. And when 
I gave as my raison d'etre a desire to study the 
Irish Question at first-hand, the answer was, 
*'0h! weVe heard all that before." 

I then realised that I was regarded with gen- 
uine suspicion. My captor had hitherto been 
polite. He now took his cue from the attitude 
of the sergeant, which was uncompromisingly 
hostile. So did the rest of the company. 
Whether I was suspected of being an emissary 
of the RepubHc, Mr. Michael Collins, or Presi- 
dent de Valera himself, seemed an open ques- 
tion. ... 

99 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Meanwhile a couple of Black and Tans went 
through my pockets, the rest standing curi- 
ously around. My notebook, references, news- 
paper cuttings, purse, etc., were turned out 
upon the table, the gentlemen in green falling 
upon them like dogs upon a heap of bones. 
Each article was examined with the attention 
due to a live bomb, especial suspicion attach- 
ing to a small, ingenious, and peculiarly harm- 
less folding matchbox. 

My interrogation was then resumed, and 
from the tone of it I could judge that my ex- 
planations were by no means to be taken at 
their face value. Was I telling the truth 
about myself; what had my movements been 
since arriving in Ireland, and how could I ex- 
plain my suspicious tactics in the vicinity of 
the barracks? 

At this moment one of the Black and Tans 
came across to the window where we were 
standing. 

"Look at these!" 

The objects referred to were the Sinn Fein 

100 



SOLDIERS AND THE BLACK AND TANS 

'"pass" and the typewritten document which 
Barry Egan had handed me at Cork. 

The sergeant's face darkened. 'What's the 
meaning of this?" 

The District Inspector was sent for. 

"These are sedetious documents," was his 
comment. 

I was invited to write my name, the signa- 
ture being disputed letter by letter and com- 
pared with that on the Castle pass. 

Meanwhile, matter not altogether compli- 
mentary to the Crown Forces had been ex- 
tracted from my notebook. To balance this, 
a small, assertive Black and Tan with a Cock- 
ney accent found himself able to corroborate 
certain of the addresses given. 

Somebody else, however, had made a dan- 
gerous discovery. An article in the Illus- 
trated Sunday Herald on Revolution! The 
word Herald was enough! 

The police inspector led the way upstairs to 
his office. Here the whole process began 
afresh. The same questions were put, all the 
papers once more examined. This time, how- 

101 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

ever, an inventory was made of them. The 
inspector then took down a statement of my 
movements and intentions. In the middle of 
it he broke off and went to the telephone. 
These ominous words came from the adjoin- 
ing room: 

"IVe got a man here who says he's come 
to see the country . . . looks very suspi- 
cious." 

I began to see visions of days, a week even, 
spent in Victoria Barracks, Cork. 

The entertaining feature of the proceedings 
was the conduct of my captor, an old R.I.C. 
man with thirty years' service. When his su- 
perior was out of the room he became broth- 
erly, said it couldn't be helped, "he was only 
doing his duty," etc., and inquired whether I 
had any cigarettes. Touched by this unex- 
pected solicitude, I rashly displayed a half -full 
cigarette case. He promptly seized one with a 
"thank you," but without further formality. 
When the inspector re-entered the room, how- 
ever, his demeanour changed. He assumed a 
constabular attitude, directed a severe retribu- 

102 



SOLDIERS AND THE BLACK AND TANS 

tive glance at his prisoner, and seemed bent on 
proving that the said prisoner was a villain. 

The taking of the statement had not been 
completed when an officer of the South Staf- 
fordshire regiment entered the room. I sym- 
pathised with his embarrassment ; he knew not 
what to say or how to say it. 

"Don't you know* better than to wander 
about in the neighbourhood of barracks ?" was 
his stern inquiry. I protested my ignorance of 
local regulations — and once again was interro- 
gated as to identity and movements. 

It so happened that my rucksack had been 
deposited at the railway station cloak-room. 
This fact having been ascertained, I was duly 
marched up by my plain-clothes friend, the 
remainder of my goods being examined on the 
station platform. Nothing compromising hav- 
ing been found, we returned to the police-bar- 
racks, where I was informed that I should be 
removed to G.H.Q., Buttevant. 

In the courtyard, a tender stood waiting, 
while a dozen soldiers in fighting-order were 
clambering onto a lorry. I bade farewell to 

103 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

my green friends, who assured me again that 
they had only done their duty, and whom I 
assured in the same sense. 

I found myself sitting between the driver 
and a young officer, the escort occupying the 
body of the car; two hundred yards behind 
came the lorry with its armed load. The drive 
that followed was full of interest. 

It was growing late. We careered along at 
thirty-five miles an hour, wide stretches of 
gorse and heather falling rapidly behind, a 
white ribbon of road ever diminishing in front. 
The sun setting behind purple mountains and 
the high lights of far-off hillsides seemed to 
lend a new aspect to the sorrows and the 
beauty of the land. Every two or three miles, 
patches of loose road material or boulders 
lying by the roadside proclaimed where no long 
while before an ambush had been prepared or 
had taken place. The men behind talked as 
they had been accustomed to talk in a greater 
war. "Do you remember such-and-such an 
ambush?" When we came to corners, the offi- 
cer grasped his revolver tightly, and every 

104 



SOLDIERS AND THE BLACK AND TANS 

now and then looked back to see whether the 
lorry was keeping its proper distance. Once 
or twice we met parties of civilians, and when 
this happened the rifles were raised; once or 
twice women and children gathering flowers. 

Late in the evening we drove up a broad 
sloping street between grey stone houses to 
the gates of some large barracks. The place 
reminded one of Princetown or Dartmoor in 
its orderliness and bleakness. 

There was much shouting and hooting at 
the gates before they were thrown open and 
we drew up in front of a wired-in compound 
on the barrack-square. 

The officer on duty appeared. 

"Hullo! What's it all about?" 

My custodian descended and the two officers 
held a brief conversation while I was left 
standing with the guard. 

Finally the Intelligence Officer was sent for 
from his dinner. 

"Come along to my office, please !" 

My papers were examined, I was asked half 
a dozen questions and invited to tell everything 

105 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

about myself. My interrogator then an- 
nounced that he was satisfied as to my iden- 
tity, dryly adding that he did not think I quite 
realised where I was. 

I was thereupon hospitably entertained at 
dinner by the Staff of the Kerry Infantry Bri- 
gade and heard (from the lips of the Colonel- 
Commandant) something of conditions of 
service in Ireland. 

"People in England," he said, "don't seem 
to realise what things are like over here — or 
else they don't care. Most of the newspapers 
damn us or take sides with the other people. 
YouVe seen for yourself the conditions we get 
about under. We can't go outside barracks 
without the risk of being shot in the back. We 
can't go out walking or out shooting. Only the 
other day one of my boys went over to a place 
five miles away on a motor-bike and has not 
been heard of since." 

"Straightforward fighting is our job, but 
this sort of thing !" put in someone else. 

"They talk about 'patriots' in England," 

said a major, wearing the D.S.O. ribbon. "Pa- 

106 



SOLDIERS AND THE BLACK AND TANS 

triots! Why, fighting the I.R.A. is fighting 
assassins. It's low, cowardly cunning they 
excel at. I tell you straight, Td sooner do 
another two-and-a-half years in France than 
the same length of time here." 

"They prepare these ambushes," remarked 
the Intelligence Officer, "lie in wait for you, 
fire a volley as you pass — they always risk 
everything on the first effort — then run for 
their lives. The only thing to be said for them 
IS that they're such rotten bad shots." 

"Yes, it's a rum kind of war," said the Com- 
mandant. "I often receive deputations from 
aggrieved Sinn Feiners who are suffering 
financially through the roads being blocked 
and bridges destroyed by their own kith and 
kin. The fact is they are intimidated by their 
gunmen to destroy the roads, and then ask 
us to put a guard over them while I repair 
them !" 

This provoked laughter, but the conversa- 
tion soon became serious again. 

"How can you expect anything but repri- 
sals," the D.S.O. major urged, "when our pals 

107 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

and our men's pals are killed like this? 11 
somebody you were very fond o£ was mur- 
dered — murdered, mind you! in cold blood — 
wouldn't you 'see red' ?" 

"No house is burnt down except in reprisal 
for an outrage, and then the house of a notori- 
ous local Shinner is chosen," added the Colonel- 
Commandant. 

"We English are incapable of hating," an- 
other officer declared. 

" — — even Germans," suggested another. 
"Don't you remember how in the war one used 
to see the Tommies handing cigarettes througH 
the barbed-wire cages to men who'd been try- 
ing all they knew to kill them an hour or two 
before. Well, it's the same here. You see our 
men actually offering cigarettes to these swine 
who shoot 'em in the back whenever they get 
an opportunity. That's your English Tommy 
all over." 

"And the worst of it all is, I've only had one 
leave since August," lamented a young subal- 
tern in the background. 

.4e 4e ♦ a|c_ # 4: 

108 



SOLDIERS AND THE BLACK AND TANS 

This conversation had a curious because 
immediate sequel. 

As I crossed the barrack square, a free man, 
I met the officer on duty. He said: 

"A young soldier in the East Lancashires * 
has just been done in on the road between here 
and Churchtown. They shot him in the jaw 
but didn't kill him, so they turned him over 
and shot him in the back. . . . You may as 
well see for yourself." 

He led the way to a building near the bar- 
rack gates. 

It was as he had said. 

* Private Fieldkig, murdered, April 26th. 



% 



CHAPTER VIII 

KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

FROM a window overlooking the barrack 
gates at Buttevant Sinn Fein prisoners 
could be seen washing themselves in the early 
morning. 

They were penned up in a sort of compound. 
One by one they came out of their wooden hut, 
blinking in the sunshine, while a lackadaisical 
sentry watched over them from a platform 
similar to that which had led to my undoing 
at Mallow. 

The night had not passed undisturbed. In 
the smallest hours I was awakened by a loud 
and violent knocking, and the stimmons of two 
or three stentorian Irish voices. "Open the 
door ! Open the door !" 

The last event of the day had not been cal- 
culated to steady the nerves. My heart beat 

faster and unpleasant recollections began to 

no 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

crowd upon me until I remembered there was 
no curfew in Buttevant. 

At 7.30 a.m. a curious little procession 
passed out of the barrack gates. 

First came a G.S. wagon in which reposed 
a sort of box covered with some material like 
sacking. There followed four Sinn Fein pris- 
oners walking slowly two by two, a file of sol- 
diers with fixed bayonets on either side of 
them. An officer and escort brought up the 
rear. 

That morning, the 27th, I caught the 9.13 
train to Kilmallock. Having been fortuitously 
conveyed some distance out of my original 
course, I came to the conclusion that it would 
be best to leave this part of the country and 
bear to the West, where things were reported 
to be ''waking up." 

The train was crowded, about half its occu- 
pants being soldiers and Black and Tans. The 
majority of these descended at Charleville 
Junction. Here the first person to catch my 
eye on the crowded platform was Mr. X. of 

Cork. 

Ill 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

There he was, smoking a cigarette with his 
usual air of insolent self-possession. A look 
of unresponsive recognition passed between 

Kilmallock is a long, straggling village of 
grey and white houses. Here Eamon de Va- 
lera, son of a Spanish father and an Irish 
mother, passed his earliest years. One who 
remembers him at this time describes him as a 
studious, clever boy of rather wild appearance, 
attending the Charleville Christian Brothers' 
School. He afterwards went on to take high 
honours at the National University, just fail- 
ing to secure a fellowship at Trinity College. 
It was during this period doubtless that he first 
came under Sinn Fein influence. Subsequently 
he became a school-teacher. 

"Down with Sinn Fein I Up England !" was 
the inscription which greeted one on the walls 
of a gutted building at the entrance to the vil- 
lage. A little farther on were two more build- 
ings of which only the walls stood. 

My call was upon a brewer of the district. 

"I only came here a year ago," he said. 

112 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

"The very evening of the day we got in this 
affair happened at the poHce barracks opposite. 
I was tired after moving furniture all day, and 
went to bed early, but we were soon awakened 
by the noise of the firing. Bombs were ex- 
ploding. Very lights were going up. We looked 
out and saw the Sinn Feiners had surrounded 
the barracks. We could see them running to 
and fro, and when morning broke the police 
were shot at as they came out. It was an awful 
night. A month later the police came back and 
burnt the houses on either side of the barracks 
— ^because, they said, there had been firing 
from them — and the People's Hall." 

"What is the general state of feeling in the 
district?" 

"The people only want to settle down. You 
cannot gauge the real state of feeling by the 
actions of the I.R.A. They only represent a 
section of the people. There was a time, of 
course, when the lads were willing enough to 
join, but now most of the ardent spirits have 
been killed or rounded up, and the country boys 
have to be roped in. I can remember a time, 

113 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

though, when they used to drill openly, in 
broad daylight, in Co. Limerick, under the in- 
struction of ex-soldiers. That's a funny thing 
now — some of the hottest Sinn Feiners are ex- 
soldiers." 

"The people generally would be glad of peace 
on almost any terms, though?" 

"They'd be content with a fair measure of 
Home Rule — yes. Dominion Home Rule. We 
have no quarrel with England, except that you 
don't understand us, and never have. Tem- 
peramentally, the English and the Irish are 
poles apart." 

"Do you think much mischief is made in the 
schools?" 

"Sinn Fein propaganda, you mean? No. 
Only, of course, the Irish language is taught." 

"Economic ties are very strong between the 
two countries?" 

"Up to a point — yes. Ireland is one of Eng- 
land's best customers for wines, motor-cars, 
and agricultural machinery. England is Ire- 
land's natural market for eggs and poultry, 

butter, cattle, and tobacco. Still, I wouldn't 

114 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

agree that Ireland's trade necessarily depends 
on England. There are other markets open — 
for linen and tobacco, for instance/' 

"People did very well round here during the 
war, I suppose?" 

"We have the finest grazing land in Ireland 
about here outside Meath. Farmers reaped a 
rich harvest, but now they're beginning to real- 
ise that a slump is ahead. You ought to go 
and see the creamery down the street." 

I followed his advice. At the far end of the 
village the creamery was working at full pres- 
sure, an elderly woman churning butter, a 
young one hand-skimming, and a man operat- 
ing the machinery. Tipped into a tank from 
the milk-cans, the milk was carried through 
to the separator, and thence to the churn, 
which made its butter in half an hour. One 
of the most delectable sights I have ever seen 
was, on the far side of the separator, a large 
tank nearly full of thick, yellow cream. 

I thought of the creamery at Mallow. . . . 

In the train to Limerick I fell into conversa- 

115 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

tion with a Buttevant commercial traveller 
who was full of woes. On his knee lay a little 
pocket-book in which he had been making up 
his accounts for the week. 

*lt costs me £8 a week travelling," he said. 
"I earn £3 a week. So Vm shutting up shop. 
The retailers won't buy because the public 
won't. Down in Tralee I haven't placed a sin- 
gle order worth the name. Houses and shops 
are constantly raided. Nobody knows what's 
going to happen next. So nobody will lay in 
stocks.*' 

'What about the boycott?" 

"I don't complain of reprisals on Catholics 
who deal with bigoted Belfast Protestants. 
But there you are — Ireland's no longer a de- 
cent country for people to earn a living in." 

Limerick lay under dust. It was hot. One 

found a baking station-yard and a long, 

straight main street suggestive of a Canadian 

prairie town. How ugly this place is, and how 

shadeless! And then you discover that the 

main thoroughfare, O'Connell Street, is known 

to the inhabitants as "George Street," and 

116 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

that there is another George Street just round 
the corner ! 

The abiding impression of Limerick was of 
the soldiers wandering through the streets in 
their curious patrol formation. A line of six 
men of the Oxon and Bucks Light Infantry in 
fighting order with arms at the trail came first, 
followed by a file on opposite sides of the street, 
then the officer and his n.c.o. in the centre of 
the roadway, another file of men and another 
line. They advanced in a leisurely manner, the 
officer occasionally pulling up somebody cross- 
ing the road and questioning him. This spec- 
tacle might be seen at all hours of the day. 

As to the lorry-loads of Black and Tans and 
the armoured cars, they were as numerous as 
in Dublin. And with what a clatter, with what 
a whirl of dust they careered along that arid 
main street on their way to or from the bar- 
racks ! The old-fashioned Cruise's Hotel near 
the Town Hall had been taken over as a tem- 
porary police barracks, so had a large building 
in Cecil Street, outside which Black and Tans 

lounged and smoked. 

117 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

The first Limerick citizen I talked to was a 
journalist, who offered the maxim : "Soft soap 
for Irishmen !" 

He meant tact. 

He dwelt, as so many had done, upon that 
which is, indeed, self-evident to any traveller 
— ^the temperamental difference between Eng- 
lishman and Irishman. 

"And yet your educated Irishman is-the most 
tolerant person in the world,'' he declared. "He 
remembers only to forget." 

As an instance of this he told the story of an 
olck Dublin woman who, crossing O'Connell 
Bridge soon after the Easter Rebellion, met a 
British officer. 

" Well,' said she, 'you > you ought 

to be chucked in the Liffey an' left to drown, 
you ought.' 

" 'And if he was, you know you'd be the 
first to jump in and pull him out !' shouted a 
passer-by. 

"That's us all over! But we do want tact- 
ful handling. It's no good trying to ride rough- 
shod over an Irishman." 

118 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

He proceeded to describe how, standing in a 
corridor of the barracks one day, he had seen 
a Black and Tan strike an Irish prisoner in 
the face. 

''That man never flinched and he never said 
a word. He was only a common man, but he 
bore himself with the dignity of a king." 

My informant appeared deeply impressed by 
the recollection. 

"But even things like that," he urged, "and 
the murder of our Mayors will be forgotten 
if you treat us generously now." 

He harked back to 1914, when Lord Wim- 
borne had entered Limerick to the strains of 
"God Save the King," amid the acclamations 
of the populace. He told of how Sinn Feiners 
who tried to start a counter-demonstration 
with "God Save Ireland" had had to be es- 
corted down a side-street by the police. 

"The people were mad for the war then," 
said he. "The Government could have done 
anything with 'em. Now — you see!" 

"What actually brought about the trans- 
formation ?" 

119 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"Failure to operate the Act of 1912 and dis- 
couragement of recruiting. Religion and edu- 
cation have had nothing to do with it. Lord 
Fitzalan will be neither popular nor otherwise, 
because he is a Roman Catholic. Balfour and 
BirreH were the best Chief Secretaries we ever 
had." 

The economic history of Limerick was that 
of the majority of Irish towns in 1921 — you 
could read it in the look of the place. Trade 
bad, nobody buying, no ships coming up the 
river — that was the tale; and there was not 
a ship to be seen along the quays. Bacon- 
curing is the staple industry, but it is fair to 
add progressive decay had set in before the 
war. Limerick lacks energy, lacks healthy 
vitality. 

And even while we talked in the hotel smok- 
ing-room a revolver shot, followed by two rifle 
shots, cracked out in the street. I went to the 
door. My companion smiled. 

'Tt's down Carey Street in the Curfew area, 
I expect." 

People were standing on their doorsteps 

120 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

looking towards the railway station. I walked 
to the corner. The words "No peace with 
England!'' scrawled on a blank wall stared me 
in the face. To the left of the station the 
street was noisy with gossiping women and 
sprawling children; to the right it stretched 
broad and straight and silent — empty. The 
station clock said 7.15. 

At dinner that evening in the hotel dining- 
room, a party of four persons sat down at a 
table near. They consisted of a father with 
a flowing dark beard, who wore his hat 
throughout the meal, of a stalwart son, and 
of two good-looking daughters. All were very 
dark, with aquiline features and a Latin grace 
of manner and expression. It was their ges- 
tures, however, their unceasing flow of merri- 
ment and joie de vivre which impressed one. 
The girls and the boy never ceased to jest, the 
father ate solemnly, making a remark about 
once in five minutes which set the whole table 
laughing. 

Through this pantomimic group — for their 
remarks could not be heard — was borne in 

121 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Upon one a sense of that temperamental differ- 
ence which had been so frequently alluded to 
by Irishmen. The group might have belonged 
to Paris, to Madrid, to Rome even — never to 
London. 

Later I made my way to the northern out- 
skirts of the city and called upon the Protestant 
Dean of Limerick. A slender, silvery-haired 
man greeted me. 

"There is not much real poverty here, ex- 
cept through unemployment," he answered in 
response to a question. "People grew very 
well off during the war. Bank balances in 
many cases are three times what they were 
before the war. Most people would be glad 
to keep outside politics if they were allowed 
to. Personally I am on the best of terms with 
all the farmers about here, Sinn Feiners, 
Nationalists, or what-not." 

"You think a peace could be patched up, 
and that the country is not entirely for sepa- 
ration?" 

"Where there's right — and wrong — on both 
sides, each must give away something. An 

122 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

old farmer said to me the other day, 'When 
a man goes to the fair, you know he asks 

more for a horse than he expects to get ' 

and laughed." 

"A settlement is possible, then?" 

The Dean nodded. 

"Is hatred of England taught in the 
schools?" 

He considered a moment. 

"I'm sorry to say Fm afraid it is. And that 
is at the root of all the trouble.** 

*'And religious differences?" 

''There are none. Please disabuse yourself 
of that idea. I personally am on the best of 
terms with all my colleagues. There is per- 
fect accord between Protestants and Roman 
Catholics." 

"Are the women interested in politics?" 

"As much as if not more so than the men. 
It's difficult to say why." 

Dean Hackett returned repeatedly to the 
necessity of doing everything possible to pro- 
mote peace. 

"Don't say or write anything calculated to 

123 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

make things worse/' he adjured. "The trou- 
ble with us is that we are always looking back, 
always harping on the Penal Laws or the Re- 
bellion of '98, always harking back to the bit- 
terness of three hundred years ago. We must 
'cast the cup from us' and look forward." 

As I walked back to Limerick that evening 
the brooding quality of the place impressed 
itself upon me. 

Soldiers and girls were strolling arm-in-arm 
under the new-flowering lilacs and chestnuts, 
white-clad young men and women were play- 
ing lawn-tennis in gardens, old men were 
smoking and talking on the veranda of a club 
that overlooks the river. Somewhere near a 
military band was playing, and I found it 
eventually huddled away in a yard up an al- 
ley, as though ashamed of its tentative eifforts 
at gaiety, of which nobody took any notice 
except a sentry. At either end of the Sars- 
field and Thomond Bridges picquets of soldiers 
with fixed bayonets were posted. The broad 
sweep of the river was veiled in misty grey, 

124 



KILMALLOCK TO LIMERICK 

through which a church spire above roof-tops 
and one or two Hghts vaguely showed. Groups 
of men lounged about the quays, and the last 
embers of a sultry sunset touched the windows 
of some Georgian houses on the farther bank. 

Crossing the bridge into Sarsfield Street, I 
noticed on the right-hand side a small green- 
shuttered house, over the doorway of which 
were two rudely-painted shamrocks above a 
skull and cross-bones. Beneath the latter ap- 
peared these strange words: 

^'And anti-Christ still alive at 4 a.m.? . . . 
And shooting now?" 

In Glentworth Street, which leads up to the 
railway station, I once more came face to face 
with Mr. X. . . . 



CHAPTER IX 

TALKS IN LIMERICK 

IN Limerick I met Dr. Sandeman, of Zurich, 
a distinguished Swiss publicist then on a 
special mission to study the situation in Ire- 
land as representative of a syndicate of Swiss, 
Austrian, Czecho-Slovakian, Polish, and Bo- 
hemian newspapers. The meeting was espe- 
cially interesting in view of Liamon de Roiste's 
hint of a possible settlement on Swiss Federal 
lines. 

Dr. Sandeman's general conclusions after a 
fortnight's sojourn in the South as the guest 
of both sides may be summarised as follows: 

"You must give Ireland Dominion Home 
Rule. 

"Your Government is not trusted, therefore 
you must give an earnest of your good inten- 
tions by withdrawing the irregulars. I find 
that they are everywhere condemned. 

126 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

"Fiscal autonomy ^nd foreign relations 
should rest with Ireland; the garrison and 
control of the ports might remain with Eng- 
land. But have you anything really to fear 
from such a little country as this? Is not 
she bound to you by natural and economic 
ties r 

Questioned as to the amount of interest 
taken in the Irish question by the Central Eu- 
ropean peoples, Dr. Sandeman declared this 
was considerable. 

He supplied the following information re- 
garding his own country: 

Comparative Populations 
Switzerland Ireland 

3,937,000 4,390,219 

(Census, July 1st, 1916) ^Census, April 2nd, 1911) 

Comparative Total Area 
15,951 square miles 32,531 square miles 

"My country is divided into twenty-two Can- 
tons ; Ireland has thirty-two Counties of very 
similar size. 

"The Cantons themselves are not 'divisions/ 

127 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

but sovereign States which have formed an 
alliance for certain purposes. Each has com- 
plete autonomy except on foreign politics, de- 
cision of peace and v^ar, post and telegraph, 
and certain State assurances which remain 
with the State Legislature. Each Canton dif- 
fers from the other in nearly every point, i.e., 
religious, political, social, industrial, physical, 
linguistic, yet forms a nation the patriotism 
of whose members is proverbial. 

*^Each of the twenty-two Cantons is divided 
into 'administrative districts,' each ruled by a 
prefect in the French manner, appointed by 
the Cantonal Authorities. Each Canton, again, 
has its own legislature, executive and judici- 
ary. The legislature of the Canton is com- 
posed of representatives chosen by Cantonal 
voters in proportion, and is thus a local parlia- 
ment rather than a county council. All Can- 
tons have the referendum and initiative by 
which electors can exercise control over their 
representatives. Twenty thousand signatures 
are required to obtain the referendum. 

'There are two Houses — a Senate and a 

128 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

Chamber of Deputies. Two Senators sit for 
each Canton and one Deputy for each twenty 
thousand inhabitants, so that Zugg has one 
Deputy and Berne twenty. 

*We have in our country, as you know, a 
Militia based on compulsory service." 

One of the most temperate and broad- 
minded men I came across in the South was 
Mr. S. O'Mara, a big Limerick bacon manufac- 
turer. Of him it was said by a British officer, 
"If all Sinn Feiners were like O'Mara, this 
Irish question would soon be settled." 

Mr. O'Mara, senior, indeed, belongs to the 
old school, though there is reason to believe 
that his views represent a large measure of 
opinion in the South and West. He is an ex- 
Mayor of Limerick, and his son is the present 
Mayor. It was of this son he first spoke, intro- 
ducing an episode very characteristic of Ire- 
land in 1921. 

"Before we discuss the Irish question I 
must tell you that my son has been arrested 
this morning by the military and committed to 

129 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

prison for one week. The charge against him, 
I understand, is of not complying with the 
orders of the officer commanding here." 

These words were spoken with dignity and 
restraint, though it was possible to perceive 
that the ex-Mayor felt the matter keenly. 

Preliminary questions led him to say: 

"The majority in Ireland would prefer com- 
plete separation, but would accept a liberal 
measure of Home Rule for the sake of peace. 
We must have: 

"(1) Ulster in a Dublin Parliament. 

"(2) Complete fiscal autonomy. 

"(3) Full control of police and full author- 
ity, military and otherwise. 

"If the proposed 'Dominion Home Rule' in- 
cluded these provisions, then there is a very 
fair chance of its being accepted by Ireland." 

"But the British garrison, and control of the 
ports?" 

"These must go." 

'And foreign relations — ^peace and war?" 
'A power of decision equal to that of the 
other Dominions." 

130 






TALKS IN LIMERICK 

^'May I ask how you propose to bring Ulster 
into a Southern Parliament ? I understand she 
IS adamant on the question." 

"If Ulster and the Southern leaders were 
brought together they could thresh out a set- 
tlement among themselves. This is an Irish 
question. England must not interfere. Once 
get Ulster into a Dublin Parliament under 
safeguards and she would work harmoniously 
for a united Ireland." 

"Don't you think the Government of Ireland 
Act through the Council of Ireland offers ma- 
chinery for a permanent settlement?" 

"No interest is taken in the Partition Act 
here because it divides the country, because 
that division would become accentuated instead 
of the reverse, and because it would express 
itself through the boycott of Belfast, as at 
present, and by means of retaliation between 
Protestant and Catholic." 

"In your opinion are the Irish people hostile 
to England, or only to the British Govern- 
ment?" 

^At present Ireland is hostile to England. 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

But the Irish people are generous and forget 
their wrongs very quickly." 

"Are a majority behind the militant move- 
ment, then — I mean the policy of the I.R.A. — 
or is this tacitly or compulsorily supported?" 

"It is tacitly supported — or put it stronger." 

"You must remember," Mr. O'Mara added, 
in words almost identical with those I had 
heard in Cork, "you must remember, National- 
ists have become Sinn Feiners, Unionists Na- 
tionaHsts." 

"Are Bolshevik or foreign influences behind 
Sinn Fein?" 

"Not at all." 

"Or anti - English propaganda in the 
schools?" 

"Nonsense." 

"What has contributed most to bring about 
the volte face from the war enthusiasm of 1914 
to the present state of affairs?" 

"The bad faith and methods of the British 
(jrovernment." 

1 suppose you don't hold a very high opin- 



"\ suppusc yuu uuii 

132 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

ion of Mr. Lloyd George and Sir Hamar 
Greenwood?" 

"Lloyd George is a trickster; Greenwood's 
a rare fraud/' 

"Who do you consider the best administra- 
tors Ireland has had in your time?" 

"Lord Carnarvon was the best Lord Lieu- 
tenant we have had; Morley and George 
Wyndham were the best Chief Secretaries. 
Balfour was very ruthless, but he passed some 
good measures for Ireland." 

"Looking back at the 1916 Rebellion, what 
good do you think it did your country?" 

"The Easter Rebellion was condemned as a 
useless waste of life by many Irishmen. It 
raised the cry of ^England's tyranny' cer- 
tainly ; it gave the impetus to violence. But it 
was the executions afterwards that left a 
rankling bitterness." 

"In fact, it was a mistake because it was a 
failure?" 

"No. The rising of 1916 gave a new soul to 
Ireland; she found her soul that day." 

"You have given me your opinion as to the 

133 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

terms upon which peace can be secured. 
What are the first steps to be taken towards 
realising it?" 

"The first step to peace is the removal of 
the Irregular Forces of the Crown; the sec- 
ond, a definite offer by the British Govern- 
ment." 

"Would it be a lasting peace or would the 
cry for a Republic break out again in a few 
years' time?" 

"Given the conditions which I have outlined, 
Ireland can be counted on as a loyal friend. 
England, you must bear in mind, is our natural 
market for eggs, butter, bacon, cattle, and 
linen. We might find other markets for our- 
selves, but England is the natural one and 
always will be." 

When I reached the Town Hall I found the 
atmosphere disturbed. Only the Town Clerk 
himself — an exuberant Irishman — seemed 
happy. 

"YouVe heard about our Mayor?" he que- 
ried. 

134 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

I answered in the affirmative, and was told 
that the Deputy-Mayor end Corporation were 
even then in Council assembled, but would be 
pleased to receive me in a few minutes. 

Meanwhile several citizens of Limerick 
dropped in — a local journalist who said that it 
was "a bad day for Ireland when the shoot- 
ings began," and a banker who announced that 
"Ireland does not want violence or complete 
separation. They are forced on her." 

Incidentally, I came across the "Scheme for 
Scholarships from Primary to Secondary 
Schools in County Limerick," issued by the 
Limerick County Council. The following ex- 
tracts seemed to throw some light on a matter 
about which equal authorities had flatly con- 
tradicted one another : * 

*Too much importance must not be attached to the tone 
and apparent significance of this Scheme which required the 
approval of, and doubtless had been approved by, that great 
Department of State affectionately known in Ireland as "The 
Department," or the "D.A.T.I.," and officially as the Depart- 
ment of Agriculture and Technical Instruction for Ireland. 
This Department was created by Irishmen in 1898 and with 
it is bound up the whole recent history of Agricultural and 
Technical Training in Ireland, together with that of Sir 
Horace Plunkett's Co-operative Movement. 

135 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

II. — Conditions of Tenure. 

(A) The Primary School from which the 
pupil comes must have adopted the Gaelic 
League Education Programme as modified by 
Dail Eireann, viz.: (a) Irish to be the official 
school language, i.e., Irish to be used for Roll 
Call, orders, prayers, etc.; (b) Irish to be 
taught for vernacular use to each child for at 
least one hour per day; (c) Irish history to be 
taught to all pupils. 

(B) The Secondary School which the pupil, 
or his parents or guardians, choose for the 
holding of a Scholarship shall have adopted 
(a) the Gaelic League Programme for Sec- 
ondary Schools, viz., Irish to be taught to all 
pupils for vernacular use; (b) Irish history to 
be taught to all pupils; (c) all Examination 
Papers to be set in both English and Irish, 
each pupil examined to have permission to 
answer in whichever of the two languages he 
may think fit. In examinations in a foreign 
language the use of that foreign language to 
be permitted in setting and answering ques- 

136 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

tions. The pupil to be taught at the Second- 
ary School with a view to Matriculation at 
the N.U.I. 

III. — Tenure of Scholarships. 

The tenure of these scholarships shall be 
four years, provided the pupil shows satisfac- 
tory progress as tested by: (a) the periodical 
school examination; (b) the annual school ex- 
amination at the end of the academic year; 
(c) the special test in Irish and Irish history 
applied by the Committee's Examiner at the 
end of each year; (d) a satisfactory report 
from the Examining Board of a Gaelic Col- 
lege, where the pupil will spend a session in 
the summer of each year at the expense of 
the Committee, until certified as able to be 
taught through the medium of Irish. The 
courses for the Special History Examinations 
are: At the end of First Year— Story of Ire- 
land (tested BiHngually) of Beata Naom Pa- 
draig— Bilingual. At the end of Second Year 
— MitcheFs History of Ireland and Stair na 
hEireann Part I. (Eogan o Neactain). At the 

137 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

end of Third Year — Last Conquest and Sean 
A'Daimis, "Eire" (Conan Maol). At the end 
of Fourth Year — The Irish Wars, by J. J. 
O'Connell, M.A., and Saothar ar Sean O'Coal- 
laig, T.D. 

«^ ^0 ^0 ^0 ^^ ^ty 

^^ #1* *^ ^* ^^ *I* 

Syllabus. 

The following is the list of subjects for examina- 
tion (written and oral) as may be necessary: 

An Gaedilge. — "Scadna/' 50 pp., Part I. (Reading 
and Dictation). "Aids to Irish Composition," by the 
Qiristian Brothers (the whole book). 

Irish History. — "Catechism of the History of Ire- 
land,'* by W. J. O'Neill Daunt, Chapters I. to XVHI. 
inclusive. Christian Brothers' Irish History Reader. 

English. — Poetry — "The Four Winds of Erin," 
E. Carbery. Literature in Ireland. Irish Verse — 
Selected, by Yeats. Prose — The Letters of Wolfe 
Tone; a written Letter or Essay. Reading and Dicta- 
tion. 

T* I* ^ *|^ T* . 

(Signed) Maurice Fitzgerald, 

Secretary to Committee, 

By the time I had digested this document, I 

was informed that the Deputy-Mayor and Cor- 

138 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

poration were ready to receive me. In the 
Council Chamber sat four gentlemen at the 
farther end of a long table. They were — it 
was evident — coldly furious. 

"He had seven days to pay the fine, but they 
took him on the first day." 

The speaker, Councillor Casey, was a short, 
dark man with a metallic voice. He belonged 
to a type I had not so far met — a Sinn Fein 
Labour leader. In reply to my inquiry he con- 
tinued vigorously : 

"Lorriesf ul of soldiers were sent to his house 
this morning, and they dragged him away. 
Look at this " 

He handed me a typewritten note : 

"H.Q., Limerick. 
"Sir, — The military Governor has ordered me to 
request you kindly to attend at the New Barracks 
on Monday, April 25th, at 11.30 a.m. 

"(Signed) J. Eastwcx)D, 

"Major, 
"For Staff Captain, 18th Infantry Brigade." 

"Should not the military come to the chief 

citizen of a town instead of summoning him 

as if he was their servant?" 

139 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"Limerick's mayors have been — unfortu- 
nate?'' I suggested. 

"Mr. O'Mara, junior, is the third mayor we 
have elected within sixteen months. O'Cal- 
laghan was mayor for twelve months, Clancy 
for six weeks. 

They were both murdered during Curfew 
hours on the same night." Councillors Griffin 
and O'Flynn spoke almost in the same breath. 
"A month earlier a District Police-Inspector 
had been murdered as he came from church." 

"Speaking for Limerick," the Deputy-Mayor 
remarked impressively, "I say that if we're 
given an open tribunal of our fellow-citizens, 
we can — even to-day — ^bring the murderers of 
O'Callaghan and Clancy to justice." 

For a few minutes we switched off to gen- 
eral politics. Of the prospects of a settlement 
the Corporation's spokesman would only say, 
"We leave ourselves in the hands of our elected 
representatives," 

"But," he added, "the whole of Ireland is 
behind President de Valera. Of Dail Eireann, 
let me remind you, thirty-two members are in 

140 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

prison, eight in America, and thirty-three at 
liberty. But it functions! You ask why we 
stood out of the 1917 Convention? Til tell 
you in a word : because we didn't believe Lloyd 
George was sincere. And we don't believe he's 
sincere to-day. Let him call Irish representa- 
tives together — let him stop this damnable per- 
secution of our people — let him make a definite 
offer." 

"Damnable persecution?" 

"Yes — damnable persecution," Councillor 
Griffin echoed hotly. "Our Member, Mr. Coli- 
vet, was arrested two or three months ago. No 
charge was preferred against hini and none 
has been made yet. This man has been kept in 
Rathkeale Prison in solitary confinement, suf- 
fering from a skin disease and being used as a 
hostage." 

"There are twenty ladies in prison," declared 
Councillor O'Flynn. "Perhaps you do not real- 
ise that, sir. And two thousand five hundred 
Irishmen all told." 

"What about Ulster?" One wanted to get 
back to the original point. 

141 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"We will give Ulster safeguards/' the Dep- 
uty-Mayor replied. "But she must come into 
a Dublin Parliament." 

"The religious question, then?" 

"With us in the South religion makes no 
difference. In the North they're bigots." 

"Has Bolshevism anything in common with 
Sinn Fein?" 

"No." 

"The present state of affairs is ruining the 
town," declared one Councillor. "Fairs and 
markets are prohibited; on market days the 
country people are turned back." 

From the Town Hall I repaired to the New 
Barracks. 

The Commandant of the 18th Infantry Bri- 
gade, Colonel Cameron, C.B., C.M.G., saw me 
at once. He said : 

"What happened is this. The Mayor was 
not in the first instance arrested. I wrote him 
a polite note" — the one already reproduced — 
"asking him to come up and see me. I wanted 
to point out to him that I understood he had 

142 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

broken a Martial Law regulation. To this he 
sent a disputatious reply. I therefore had to 
order him to come up to barracks. He did not 
comply and I was therefore forced to arrest 
him. He was fined £10, with the alternative 
of a week's imprisonment. He preferred to 
do the week." 

If the Deputy-Mayor and Corporation had 
been outspoken, the Colonel-Commandant and 
his Staff were no less frank. The implication 
upon the Black and Tans in connection with 
the affair of the Mayors was, I could see, bit- 
terly resented. 

"Civilian trials," said Colonel Cameron, "are 
useless. You cannot get at the truth. Wit- 
nesses perjure themselves till they're blue in 
the face. I am satisfied, however, that Clancy 
and O'Callaghan were opposed to murder and 
that it was largely due to them that there had 
been no attack on the Crown Forces in Lim- 
erick for six months prior to the murders on 
March 7th, 192L It is a fact that outrages 
began again exactly a month after their 
death." 

143 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

I took the opportunity to ask further ques- 
tions. Colonel Cameron, whose command 
comprised the counties of Limerick, Clare, and 
Tipperary, said that it might take four years 
of guerilla warfare before the I.R.A. could be 
rounded up. 

"But we're making progress. Reprisals, 
you must see, are inevitable. For instance, the 
other evening a bomb was thrown at three 
R.I.C. men and a soldier walking in Carey 
Street. I have therefore ordered Curfew for 
7 p.m. in that area of the town. When an out- 
rage takes place, I order the house or houses 
of local inhabitants who are known Sinn 
Feiners to be burnt." 

"Is feeling in the town bitter against the 
military ?'* 

"The fact is, as I have said, that our men 
got on admirably with the people of Limerick 
until the murder of the two Mayors. From 
that date onwards things have woken up. 
Until then I drove about in my car without 
an escort. I would not do so now.*' 

I inquired as to the character of the Black 

144 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

and Tans, pointing out certain matters that 
had been alleged against them. 

"I do not say," replied the Colonel-Com- 
mandant, '^that they have always been all they 
might be or that there have not been black 
sheep in the flock. We had to augment the 
Forces in a hurry, and it was inevitable that 
discipline should not at first be up to the old 
R.LC. standard. What you may not be aware 
of is that the old Irish police feel far more 
strongly about Republican outrages than the 
English recruits. English people don't realise 
that, and it is not fair to impute any and every 
outbreak to the new English recruits. . . . 
Well — we have done a lot of weeding-out, and 
discipline is now greatly improved." 

In conclusion, Colonel Cameron used a 
memorable phrase : 

''These people dwell too much in the past. 
We must wash out the past before we start 
afresh." 

My last call but one on this busy day was at 

the gaol. 

145 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Armed with an introduction to the Gov- 
ernor, I hoped to see the incarcerated Mayor 
himself. My request was, however, definitely 
refused, inasmuch as even his wife could not 
by prison regulations be permitted this pleas- 
ure. Nor, I was informed, was Mr. O'Mara, 
jnr., himself in a mood to receive strangers. 
He was at that moment engaged in a discus- 
sion on May-fly fishing with an officer of 
H.M.'s Forces. 

Nothing could have been more open-minded, 
more anxious to place at the disposal of an in- 
quirer such facilities for acquiring informa- 
tion as were at their disposal than the G.O.C. 
and his Staff. It was indeed by special per- 
mission of the former that I was enabled to 
talk with two interesting denizens of the In- 
ternment Camp. 

One of these was Michael Colivet, aforemen- 
tioned as M.P. for Limerick City and member 
of Dail Eireann, the other a picturesque per- 
sonality with a rebellious history. In Easter 
Week this latter personage had served as a 

captain; during the present campaign he had 

146 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

been associated with various ambushes, and 
upon one occasion (it was alleged), having 
been ordered to fill in a trench, had refused, 
saying that such a task was beneath the dig- 
nity of an officer of the I.R.A. On the whole, 
he thought he would prefer to be shot. 

I was escorted down to the Prison Camp by 
a Staff officer in plain clothes who (I noticed) 
carried a revolver in his coat pocket. We trav- 
elled in a motor-car with an armed guard. 
The prisoners were confined in a series of 
wired-in pens like poultry-runs some forty 
yards long by twenty broad with a wooden 
living-hut in the centre of each. About a 
dozen were allotted to each hut. Before being 
admitted through a regular thicket of barbed- 
wire to the enclosure and introduced to its 
occupants, I was made to promise not to hold 
them in conversation for more than twenty 
minutes. 

Outside the "thicket," two prisoners were 

talking to their friends — well-dressed ladies, 

respectable-looking men who might have been 

schoolmasters or clergymen in mufti. 

147 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

The Republican officer, H , came out of 

the hut first. He is a brawny, jovial-looking 
fellow, not unlike the late James Connolly, his 
appearance of hearty and open-hearted good- 
humour belying some of the deeds in which he 
is alleged to have taken part. He wore a shirt 
without a collar, which gave him a more raffish 
appearance than he perhaps wears in civil 
life. 

He was reluctant to discuss politics. He 
said: 

"I don't know why Fm here. They've held 
me six months now, and no trial. They've 
never even made any charge against me ex- 
cept that I'm a member of an illegal organisa- 
tion — the I.R.A. My position is simply this: 
It is my duty to do what Dail Eireann tells me 
to do. They are the elected representatives of 
the Irish people. I merely obey them. We are 
independent people ; we are not the slaves of a 
foreign power. . . . But here comes my friend. 
He will do the talking." 

Michael Colivet impressed me as had other 

Sinn Feiners with his youth, his alertness, and 

148 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

a certain guarded diffidence. He is a small, 
clean-shaven, sandy-haired man who does not 
look a day more than twenty-six. He has a 
self-possessed, quiet manner — a different sort 
altogether to H . 

Much of what he said corresponded to the 
sentiments of Barry Egan and Liamon de 
Roiste. "That is a matter for Dail Eireann," 
he rapped out repeatedly and with the promp- 
titude of a formula. 

*'We are not to be treated like little chil- 
dren and told our punishment or told to be 
good," he protested. "Any concession or ne- 
gotiation has got to come from Dail Eireann, 
the elected representatives of the people, and 
must be agreed upon as between one nation 
and another." 

I inquired whether he considered the Repub- 
lican movement to be representative of the 
whole people. The (perhaps) obvious answer 
came: 

"The Irish people had the opportunity of 
voting for Constitutional Nationalism if they 
preferred it in 1918. They voted Sinn Fein 

149 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

by an overwhelming majority. You don't want 
anything plainer than that, do you ?'' 

Colivet was obviously reluctant to answer 
direct questions directly or to commit himself 

in any way. The soldier H smiled, and 

assented to whatever his friend said. But on 
one or two points both were voluble. 

"Look at this miserable place! Only two 
hours exercise a day. Penned up like animals. 
And no charge against us ! They won't tell us 
what we're here for. But they use us as 
hostages. A cowardly act, that, to protect 
themselves !" 

"They let us see our friends — ^well, prac- 
tically whenever we want to, I'll say that for 

them," H conceded. "And they don't feed 

us too badly." 

It was the using as hostages that rankled. 
They came back to it again and again — that 
and the uncertainty of the charge hanging 
over them, and of the period of their impris- 
onment. 

"I could get released to-morrow if I was 

150 



TALKS IN LIMERICK 

willing to promise certain things," H 

asserted; "but I'm not." 

"Time's up!" the Corporal of the guard 
called out. . . . 

It had seemed a very brief twenty minutes. 



CHAPTER X 

GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

NOTHING remains more strange, and 
nothing more sinister, in a long history 
of Irish crime than the murders of the two 
Mayors of Limerick. Strange and sinister in 
particular, because here are two of the most 
prominent citizens of one of the largest towns 
in Ireland done to death in the same night — 
and to this day none shall say by whom. 

The embittered accusations of the Deputy- 
Mayor and Corporation, followed by Colonel 
Cameron's cr^-ptic words, set me investigating: 

"Speaking for Limerick, I say that if we're 
given an open tribunal of our fellow-citizens, 
we can — even to-day — bring the murderers of 
O'Callaghan and Clancy to justice.'' 

'The face is Clancy and O'Callaghan were 
both quiet, decent, moderate men, and we 
wanted them. The I.R.A. did not." 

152 



GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

Between these two statements and their un- 
derlying significance lies a story so peculiar, 
so tortuous and difficult and underground as to 
suggest the days of the Star Chamber or of the 
Inquisition rather than of the year 1921 : a 
world of intrigue, of punishment or reprisal, 
of accusation and counter-accusation, of sus- 
picion, and semi-certainty — then again doubt. 
Behind the veil — truth. Then Death. . . . 
Who shall unravel the truth, or will it ever be 
unravelled? Will it ever see the light of day? 

For with investigation of this half -forgotten 
crime the plot thickens. Whereas the military 
swear one thing and the civil another, a third, 
party of unimpeachable probity, acquainted 
alike with local conditions and with the de- 
ceased men, believes that the murders were 
committed by Sinn Fein itself. Mrs. O'Cal- 
laghan's letters to the Press have spoken in an 
opposite sense. A special correspondent of 
one of the great London newspapers, present 
in the city at that time and well acquainted 
with the victims, agrees with her view. The 
motive alleged, a reprisal by the police for the 

153 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

murder one month earlier of a police inspector 
on his way to church. 

All but convinced by this evidence when I 
repaired to the New Barracks, I there met with 
a flat denial. A commentary upon the state of 
the town, though an inexplicit one, stares one 
in the face almost opposite the barrack gates — 
writings on a wall : 

"PUG. MQ. HOAN. REBES. *UpB. &T/" 

"The best proof of what we say," urged a 
Staff officer, "is to be found in a fragment of a 
letter addressed to the Commandant, I.R.A., 
Limerick, and captured during a raid on a 
Dublin house. The sense of it is : 

"We've sent you four hundred rifles. 
What are you doing with them?" 

The word of an officer of H.M.'s Forces can 

no more easily be doubted in 1921 than in 1914. 

"The murders followed very soon after, and 

from that day things have * woken up.' As to 

154 



GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

their having taken place during curfew hours 
-upon which fact great stress has been laid 
— everybody knows that on certain nights of 
the week it is, or was, possible to slip through 
the curfew patrol. Our men cannot be every- 
where at once. I may add that of two Black 
and Tans who were definitely named as hav- 
ing taken part in the crimes one was abroad at 
the time, the other on in-lying picquet." 

A great deal more was said. There was a 
deal of mystery in the night of the happenings 
— signals by lighted cigarette from dark door- 
ways, a sentry's failure to challenge and his 
denial that it was his duty so to do, men seen 
by a doctor (after the second murder) hurry- 
ing across Sarsfield Bridge, and so forth. I 
went into the story in some detail because it is 
the particular one among many of its kind in 
Ireland which came my way. The very fact 
of Sinn Fein being suspected of having done 
to death two of its leading representatives 
under such ferocious circumstances, seems to 
shed a shaft of baleful and unforgettable light 

into the underworld of that time. 

155 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Indeed, one does not need to be convinced 
that the real history of the country during two 
years past is little more than half -known now, 
that much of it probably never will be known, 
that a man has to dig out and unearth the truth 
for himself, that, in short, the recent condi- 
tion of the country has been a "history within 
a history." 

While we were still discussing these matters 
a plain-clothes constable entered the room and 
announced that he had just run to earth and 
captured two of the rebels concerned in the 
bomb-throwing at policemen a few nights be- 
fore. They had been found hiding in a hay- 
loft five miles from the city and had not offered 
resistance. 

"That'll be a swinging job, won't it?" 

"Perhaps. . . ." 

This led to the subject of the I.R.A., its 
weapons and methods. 

In a corner of the room where the Staff 
worked stood two large wooden boxes con- 
taining various sorts of ammunition captured 

156 



GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

from the I.R.A. Taking up a handful I found 
split bullets, soft-nosed bullets, together with a 
curious wire contrivance stripped from the 
cartridge and capable of inflicting terrible 
laceration. A bandolier and a green peaked 
cap of the I.R.A. hung on a peg. Half a dozen 
rifles of patterns varying from the old Mauser 
and Winchester Repeater to the Lee-Enfield 
(Mark VI and VII) and a sort of blunderbuss 
that looked like an elephant gun, stood against 
the wall. The ammunition included German, 
French, Service, and Nos. 5 and 6 sporting 
cartridges. 

"The swine!" exclaimed an officer. "If I 
caught one of them with these things on him 
I'd shoot him in cold blood with the greatest 
pleasure." 

He seemed to mean that. 

The organisation of the Republican Army, 
I learnt, was based on Brigade Areas com- 
manded by commandants, with captains con- 
trolling bands of twenty-five to fifty men. A 
Brigade Area might be called upon to find a 

given number of men for a particular opera- 

157 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

tion. There were also Flying Columns which 
operated mainly in the mountainous districts, 
avoiding main roads and never staying more 
than two days at one place. They might de- 
scend suddenly upon a district to carry out a 
raid or ambush, and would then quarter them- 
selves upon the inhabitants of that district, de- 
manding board and lodging and making the 
peasants responsible for their safety during 
their stay. 

"We don't worry much about the rank and 
file," the Intelligence Officer continued. "It's 
the leaders we want, rather particularly Mike 
Collins and Richard Mulcahy. Your average 
ambusher is an ignorant peasant who has a 
gun put in his hand, is herded to the scene of 
an ambush, and told to loose it off. That sort 
bolts at the first opportunity. Here, in Lim- 
erick, which is an I.R.A. Brigade Area, we 
have about six hundred volunteers. We know 
them all The most desperate characters, the 
men definitely 'on the run,' keep to the moun- 
tains. Presumably they enjoy the life. Any- 
way, they know they'll be shot if they're 

158 



GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

caught, and I suppose they reckon on getting 
amnestied one day if they're not." 

The subject of hostages was again brought 
up. I mentioned what Michael Colivet and 
H — — had said. 

"Oh ! they loathe it, I know," was the Court- 
Martial officer's comment. "But what do you 
expect? I'm not going to get done in with 
these chaps skulking behind their barbed-wire 
entanglements ! Some of them sulk on the job 
and some of them make the best of it in a sport- 
ing spirit. I always rag them a bit. Well, 
Paddy,* I say, Vho's for it to-day — you or 
me? Because if I go, you're going, too, you 
know.' And sometimes they laugh and some- 
times they look murder. But they know we 
mean it. ..." 

An extract from a secret operations report 
undated and captured at an I.R.A. headquar- 
ters gives the situation from another angle. 

". . . We took cover in an old rath and waited 
there about twenty minutes. One of our men crawled 
out about three hundred yards to a civilian and learned 
from him of a certain way out that was clear of the 

159 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

enemy. We moved for this point and at last got clear 
of our pursuers. 

"The Officer Commanding fought bravely and 
seemed to die a happy and painless death. He was at 
Confession and Communion with all our men only 
three days before. The wounded man struggled on 
gamely. It was impossible to render first-aid owing to 
the heavy fire of the enemy, and he bled a great deal. 

"The Brigade-Quartermaster displayed extraordi- 
nary coolness and daring throughout, and were it not 
for him and the O.C. we were done for. 

"The Trenching of Roads 

"The trenching of roads which is now carried out 
all over Ireland has, in many districts, rendered the 
enemy's road transport practically useless. An ex- 
ample of this was given in the Firies area of Co. Kerry 
in the last days of April. A decision to round up all 
Republican troops in the area was taken by the local 
Military Headquarters. The operation was to have 
lasted several days, and a great body of troops were 
to have been employed upon it. Information of this 
operation reached the local Republican Headquarters, 
and a few hours before it was timed to take place all 
the roads in the area were deeply trenched. The first 
party of the enemy arrived soon afterwards in four- 
teen lorries, but was unable to reach the district 
marked for the round-up. After an unsuccessful 
effort to overcome the difficulty the enemy withdrew 
without a single prisoner." 



160 



GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

It was at Limerick that I read the Bishop of 
Killaloe's astonishing Easter Pastoral, breath- 
ing fire and brimstone against England; also a 
letter from a Co. Waterf ord parish nurse, tell- 
ing a long tale of persecution at the hands of 
Sinn Fein on account of her ministrations to 
the wives and families of the local R.I.C. 

More illuminating than either of these, how- 
ever, because verifiable, was the case of W., a 
skilled mechanic, and his wife. To hear their 
story was to throw another shaft of light into 
this underworld of Ireland. Of this man the 
Protestant Bishop of Limerick has written: 

"I entertain the highest opinion of his character. 
He is a skilful workman ; and in health could earn his 
living well." 

I found the old couple occupying the back- 
bedroom of a small cottage. W., a good-look- 
ing bearded man, 69 years of age, was lying in 
bed, the pallor of his features testifying to a 
long and grievous illness. He told his story 
with a dignity and restraint that were im- 
pressive. 

161 



:a: journey in Ireland 

He is an Englishman. Having been advised 
thirteen and a half years ago that the milder 
climate would be beneficial to his wif e*s health, 
he migrated to Tipperary, where he had been 
offered work. The couple afterwards moved 
to Co. Limerick, where they dwelt for the next 
eleven years. They found themselves the only 
English people in the place. They set up a 
shop, and were at one time earning as much 
as £5 and £6 a week. They got on well with 
their neighbours, taking no interest in politics, 
but keeping outside them as much as possible. 

The first change occurred after the 1916 re- 
bellion. A subtle hostility began to manifest 
itself among the neighbours; their custom fell 
off; when they went into other shops, they 
were told English customers were not wanted. 
In 1917, when Mr. de Valera visited the dis- 
trict, definite signs of enmity became apparent. 
One day a procession passed their windows, 
shouting '^Bloody Protestants !" "To hell with 
the King!" 

Thereafter the women became particularly 

hostile. "The women are always worse than 

162 



GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

the men," said Mrs. W. A woman, who had 
hitherto carried water for the old couple, was 
threatened that if she did not desist her house 
would be burned. At this time W. wrote di- 
rect to Sir John Maxwell, and for a while the 
persecution ceased. 

A climax came, however, one evening in 
September, 1918, when two men passing W., 
who was smoking his pipe at his shop-door 
— "waiting,'' as he described it, "for his dog 
to come in" — gave him a push, saying "Garn 
yer bloody Englishman!" "I righted myself 
and said. What do you mean by this sort of 
behaviour?' One of them gave me a violent 
kick in the stomach." 

"I heard him cry out," interposed Mrs. W. 
(who was now weeping) "and ran to the door. 
I found him lying on the ground in great 
pain." 

The couple then reported the matter to the 
police, who advised them to take no notice. 
A Roman Catholic priest, who happened to be 
president of the local Sinn Fein court, recom- 
mended them to bring their case before that 

163 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

tribunal. They replied they would rather die 
than do so. 

By this time all their friends had deserted 
them with the exception of the clergyman. 
Having nowhere to go they were unable to 
leave the place, and had, in any case, no means 
of moving their possessions. Internal com- 
plications had developed, as a result of the kick, 
and W. was operated on three times within 
twelve months. In the spring of 1920 they 
were warned by their landlord, a Sinn Fein 
saddler, to leave, with the words "If you don't 
clear out, you'll be chucked out." They were 
in a very sad plight. Fortunately the police 
did not at once serve the warrant for eviction, 
on account of the doctor's certificate, but the 
matter was taken to a Sinn Fein court. 

Finally in July, 1920, they received informa- 
tion that they were to be turned out on the 
following Sunday night. The military must 
have received information to this effect, be- 
cause they came on Saturday night with a 
lorry and guard, and conveyed the couple to 

Limerick, giving them one hour's notice to 

164 



GLIMPSE INTO AN UNDERWORLD 

pack up. W. managed to obtain a small 
amount of work with a firm in the town. 
When this ceased he attempted to get work 
of his own, but without success. Later in the 
year he underwent another operation for can- 
cer, the result of his internal injuries. 

The couple finally wrote to Lord French for 
assistance, and received a visit from two police 
sergeants, but nothing more was heard of the 
matter. They found good friends, however, 
in the military and among the ladies in the 
country around, and were eventually enabled 
to move to Dublin, where the man went into 
hospital. After a short interval they were 
brought over to England, where treatment is 
being carried on, with, it is hoped, some chance 
of success. 



CHAPTER XI 

TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

APRIL 30th was market-day in Birr. 
And from about ten o'clock onwards 
small donkey-carts, driven by ragged-looking 
peasants and containing poultry, vegetables, a 
calf, potatoes, eggs, a pig, came bowling into 
the little town. There were farm-wagons 
laden with hay, seed-corn, roots and other 
produce, there were governess-carts driven by 
farmers' wives, and motor-cars; there were 
bicyclists. Altogether Birr presented a lively 
appearance. . . , 

The heat-wave continued. The sun scorched 
the Duke of Cumberland's column in the centre 
of the square, that column which everybody 
told you was any day likely to tumble down. 
The roadway was an inch deep in dust; they 
had pulled down the blinds in the County Club. 
Two or three sleepy Black and Tans lounged 

166 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

on the steps of the yellow building opposite 
which was their home. 

In the picturesque chestnut-shaded street 
which leads from the square to the Castle — 
hay-wagons. Follow the narrow twisting lane 
between the outer castle-wall and a row of 
grey cottages — ^potatoes. Rows of donkey- 
carts, rows of donkeys. Turn into a yard on 
the left-hand side — pigs. Pigs and a few sheep 
and a throng of red-faced, gaitered men talk- 
ing pigs. Pigs talking too, squealing, grunt- 
ing pigs, protesting pigs. Further along the 
street — tethered in couples, fluttering, helpless, 
and tumbled together in feathery squawking 
heaps upon the pavement, crammed into crates 
— ^poultry. Hens gasping with heat, gasping 
for air — a cruel sight. At the corner of the 
main street — calves. Calves netted and snared 
in little carts, and groups of dealers or farmers 
or smallholders talking calves. Confusion, too, 
confusion of backing carts, lazy donkeys, 
herded cattle, and bawling men and women. 
Where the pavement broadens, forming a kind 
of cul de sac — eggs. Heaps and heaps of 

167 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

eggs — mountains of eggs — housewives buying, 
and selling eggs. Among the eggs, squatting, 
with their backs against the wall, two ancient 
gipsies, looking like automatised mummies 
done up in rags — the man tending his feet. 
Then vegetables, and all along the main street 
such throngs of respectable-looking farmers, 
farmers' wives and disreputable-looking peas- 
ants, that one chances a kick from an ass and 
walks in the roadway. The shops, too, 
crowded. A couple of soldiers stroll by, a 
couple of R.I.C. men. People look curiously 
at you sometimes, make remarks to each other 
about you. You find yourself counting the 
number of green ties, green scarves, green 
costumes. . . . 

The market-luncheon begins at two. There 
assemble in the dining-room of the inn a young 
Church of Ireland clergyman, two farmers, a 
commercial traveller. All know each other, all 
are evidently in the habit of meeting weekly. 
They reply to your "good morning" — and re- 
gard you with suspicion. 

Conversation dwindles, then ceases alto- 

168 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

gather. Essays upon the weather, the market, 
the future of the crops, and the architectural 
peculiarities of Birr — with special reference to 
the Duke of Cumberland — meet with monosyl- 
lables. Thwarted and still-born, you retire: 
silence reigns except for the glad symphony of 
eating. 

Finally you become conscious of definite, 
pointed hostility. . . . 

Such is Birr : Birr which lies on the borders 
of King^s County and Tipperary, Birr which 
was the first place come to outside the martial 
law area, and therefore the first market, Birr 
which is sometimes called Parsonstown. 

Here definitely one leaves the South, enter- 
ing the less actively rebellious but more prob- 
lematical Midlands. 

"This is a Constitutional island in a sea of 

Sinn Fein," observed a citizen as we strolled 

along the quiet road that leads to Galway 

under the walls of the castle in the cool of the 

evening. "Birr and the district around it have 

always been loyal, chiefly, I suppose, because 

it's been a garrison-town since time immemo- 

169 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

rial, because a lot of the soldiers — and officers, 
too — have married and settled down here. The 
town has not suffered in any way— touch wood ! 
— our local Black and Tans are a well-behaved 
lot, and we've never so far had curfew. At 
the Local Government election, out of twenty- 
one elected candidates, only four were Sinn 
Feiners. You can't say that of many towns in 
Ireland!" 
I agreed. 

"But," he went on, "it's only like that in 
Birr itself and within a radius of two or three 
miles. Tullamore you'll find a much warmer 
spot. The political change there has only come 
about in the last few years though. In 1914 
North Tipper ary was so pro-British as to be 
positively Jingo. Hundreds of men volun- 
teered to join up — and were told to go home 
again. Now all Tipperary, as you know, is 
red-hot Sinn Fein." 

"What are the chief reasons for the 
change?" — a usual question. 

"The blunders of the Government. If the 

Asquith Act had been applied in 1914, even 

170 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

though Ulster had fought it, all this trouble 
would have been avoided. War or no war, it 
would have been worth while." 

^^Andthen?" 

"Well, the Easter Rebellion, and the execu- 
tions after it, brought the whole country to its 
feet. Coming to later days, the repeated execu- 
tions — in Cork and Dublin — and the rule of the 
Crown Forces have made for greater and more 
bitter resentment every day." 

"By 'Crown Forces' I suppose you mean the 
Black and Tans?" 

"The whole country is up in arms against 
them, but in Tullamore and Mullingar you'll 
find there's feeling against the Regulars too. 
This feeling may rankle, it may last — that 
depends on the settlement. A more dangerous 
thing is that the younger generation are grow- 
ing up in an atmosphere of hatred of England, 
with recrimination as a birthright and revenge 
as a legacy." 

"You think there is dislike of England 
then?" 

There is. And it's increasing because it's 

171 



(C^ 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

felt among us that the English people could 
put a stop to all this if they chose — could insist 
on a settlement. As to the Government, it's 
hopelessly mistrusted. Whatever the Govern- 
ment does must be preceded by a pledge or 
pledges of sincerity." 

"By the Government you really mean Lloyd 
George and Hamar Greenwood?" 

The worthy fellow laughed. 

"WeVe a saying here, 'Don't call it a lie, call 
it a Greenwood !' " 

"And the Prime Minister?" 

"Words, all words!" 

"You see, these people don't understand Ire- 
land," he explained. "Behind all the trouble, 
you've got to recognise an almost complete 
divorce of character and idea and point of view 
as between the average Englishman and the 
average Irishman. Individually they like one 
another but nationally they've never under- 
stood one another — perhaps never will." 

"The Government of Ireland Act " 

"Nobody has any use for the Government 
of Ireland Act hereabouts. It will fail. Finan- 

172 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

daily it's unsound, the system of nomination 
of the Senate is all wrong, the principle of 
partition fatal. The Bill's not worth talking 
about." 

"What sort of settlement can you visualise 
then?" 

'T)ominion Home Rule perhaps, but it must 
include Ulster and fiscal autonomy. Yes — 
something like a Provincial Federative scheme 
on Swiss lines is a conceivable basis of solu- 
tion, but economically you cannot put Munster 
and Connaught on a par with Leinster and 
Ulster, you know." 

While we were discussing the difficulties of 
a good relationship being established between 
England and the United States with the Irish 
Question still '^in the air," a lorry-load of sol- 
diers singing and shouting, with rifles levelled, 
approached at furious speed and dashed by in 
a cloud of dust. 

My friend, who had shown signs of uneasi- 
ness, said, 

"YouVe got to be. careful of these gentry 

when they're like that." 

173 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

I questioned him about the economic condi- 
tion of the countryside. 

"King's County, of course, is mainly tillage 
and therefore prosperity is less pronounced 
here than in dairy countries, but still it's been 
very great." 

There was, so far as he knew, no Sinn Fein 
propaganda in the schools and no Rtissian 
money behind the Sinn Fein movement. 

"But," he added, "there's plenty of Amer- 

• J) 
lean. 

My next conversation at Birr was with a 
certain John Dooley, member of the King's 
County Council and of the 1917 Convention. 

He began to speak at once of this abortive 
but significant event incident of recent Irish 
history. 

"The result of the Convention split on a hair. 

Apart from the Nationalists, who wanted an 

immediate grant of fiscal autonomy, only the 

Ulster lot stood out of the agreement — and 

the Ulstermen were obstructionist. What the 

Government asked for was 'substantial agree- 

174 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS. 

ment/ That is exactly what they got. So 
they promptly turned down our Report be- 
cause it was not unanimous." 

"The fact is," my Nationalist friend went 
on disgustedly, "Lloyd George only thought of 
the Convention in order to fool people and 
keep them busy. Can you wonder that a Gov- 
ernment led by him is mistrusted?" 

"What do you think of the prospects of a 
settlement?" 

"Ulster remains as ever, the crux of the 
question. But I am convinced that if a Parlia- 
ment sat in Dublin, Ulster would soon want to 
come into it. The Partition Act is useless if 
only because nobody in the country wants it 
except Antrim, Armagh, and Down. Far from 
making for a united Ireland, under it North 
and South would steadily drift apart. You can 
see for yourself that the Council of Ireland 
is unfairly composed — twenty representatives 
of the South and twenty of the North ! Under 
the Act two sets of officials would be needed, 
so that half the country's income would be 

wasted on running its machinery. Have a 

175 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

referendum in the Ulster counties for partici- 
pation in the Northern or Southern Parliament 
— thati might point a way out of it.'* 

"And fiscal autonomy?" 

"There should be free trade between Eng- 
land and Ireland, and a mutually-chosen Com- 
mission could sit to decide what duties are to be 
imposed on foreign goods." 

"You see under present conditions," Mr. 
Dooley continued, "the cleavage between North 
and[ South is being accentuated every day. 
Take the Agricultural Board, for instance. 
There you have a semi-official body drawn 
from the whole of Ireland, a body that has 
always worked very well up till now. Now it's 
a farce." 

"What in your opinion is the shortest way to 
peace?" 

"Raise Martial Law and remove military 
government. Give us fair treatment, I say, 
and the present bitterness will soon be for- 
gotten." 

"Is this bitterness anti-English in origin or 

anti-Government ?" 

176 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

"There's no personal hostility to English 
people here but there is resentment, deep re- 
sentment, that they do not help Ireland or 
interest themselves in her difficulties. As to 
the present policy of the Crown, all moderate 
people are being alienated by it. Every Union- 
ist of note in this district, for instance, has 
become a Constitutional Nationalist. The old 
Nationalists have become Sinn Feiners." 

The words were almost identical with those 
so often reiterated in Cork. 

"All the older men in this county are Nation- 
alists, and no Nationalist will have the Parti- 
tion Act at any price. Make up your mind 
to that!" 

I mentioned the recent appointment of a 
Roman Catholic Lord Lieutenant. 

"The question of his religion is of no polit- 
ical significance,'' was Mr. Dooley's rejoinder., 
"We don't care tuppence what religion a man 
professes. Religion and politics are essentially 
different things in Southern Ireland." 

On the subject of local conditions, he said: 

"Farmers are well-off enough. There is no 

177 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

emigration, so their families do the work free. 
Unemployment is about normal, but the work- 
ing classes are badly off really, for work is 
spasmodic. There's very little buying and sell- 
ing. Shopkeepers want to keep their retail 
stocks low." 

A noticeable characteristic of this placid 
oasis in the heart of stormy Ireland was its 
normal daily and social life, the apparently 
well-to-do contentment of its inhabitants. In 
the market-square of an evening there was 
always a busy going to-and-f ro. Black and 
Tans played football with the local youths, 
young ladies in white tennis frocks might be 
seen riding homeward on bicycles or starting 
up their cars. Cows strolled casually through 
the streets after milking. 

I called upon a local squire, and found a 

charming country place with its equipment of 

lawns and gardens and a park, permanently 

inhabited. Nowhere in the country districts 

did the landed gentry appear to be disturbed 

in their normal habits by local conditions. 

A well-known resident of the district drew 

178 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

my attention to the record of Birr in the war. 
Birr contributed a higher proportion of volun- 
teers to the Army than any other town in 
Ireland. "Early in 1914/' he said, "twenty- 
six out of thirty-seven of my employees joined 
the Army." 

That religion as a factor in daily affairs 
cannot altogether be discounted outside Ulster 
is shown by the following incident: 

Before an Urban District Council in King's 
Co. came three applications by its employees 
under the Government grant to meet the extra 
cost of living. One of the applicants was a 
Roman Catholic, the other two Protestants. 
The population is predominantly Catholic, the 
proportion when the matter came to a vote 
being eleven to nine. 

Every Catholic member of the U.D.C. had 
been zealously mobilised beforehand to ensure 
this majority. In the upshot the Catholic ap- 
plicant was awarded an increase of £60 under 
the grant, while the two Protestants were 
awarded <£5 each. 

The views of the resident in question proved 

179 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

to be similar to those of his neighbours, though 
he claimed that the majority of King's Co. 
farmers are really Conservative, but dare not 
say so. They had enjoyed under the Union 
unprecedented prosperity, though now perhaps 
beginning to realise that they were in for some 
lean years. 

"The South does not want a change, but 
people would be glad to accept a generous 
measure of Dominion Home Rule if clearly 
offered. The best solution of the Ulster ques- 
tion would be a plebiscite. Fiscal autonomy 
to be granted to Ireland, control of the Army, 
Navy, and foreign policy to remain as here- 
tofore, the Irish contribution to the National 
Debt to be agreed upon. But," he added, "hos- 
tility to England is growing, though not in this 
district. The Black and Tans have been quiet 
here, but unless they are brought under disci- 
pline elsewhere there can be no peace in this 
land." 

One of the most picturesque personalities I 
came across in this part of Ireland was Arch- 
deacon Ryan, of Birr. Indeed, there was not 

180 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

a little in common between this fragile-looking, 
shy-mannered and unworldly priest and the 
steel-fibred leaders of Sinn Fein whom I had 
talked with in Cork. There was the same — 
how shall one say? — delicate adjustment of 
mind, softness of voice and manner, strain of 
poetry, faint perfume of idealism which molli- 
fies, or appears to, the rigid nationalism. 

"Look back at our history — have we much 
to thank you for?" These were the Arch- 
deacon's opening words. "Of course, we have 
some things to thank England for, nobody 
would deny it, and in some ways you perhaps 
have been badly treated. But youVe offered 
us in the last twenty-one years only a fraction 
of what is our right." 

I inquired to whom in modern years he con- 
sidered Ireland owed most. 

"The best Chief Secretary we ever ha3 
was Morley; the best Lord Lieutenant, Lord 
Spencer." 

Archdeacon Ryan's words grew in intensity 
as he went on. 

"If Irishmen thought they could get a Re- 

181 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

public now, they would be glad of it. Given a 
free election, the majority of the people would 
undoubtedly vote for remaining outside the 
British Empire. Not that there is any per- 
sonal dislike of Englishmen, but there is — and 
always has been — hatred of British rule. We 
are a separate nation. Wouldn't you like to 
be master in your own house? ... If English 
people want to understand us, they ought to 
read more history." 

He paused. Then : 

''Nobody trusts the present Government. 
The Partition Act is a useless farce; nobody 
wants it. A terrible account lies at Sir Edward 
Carson's door." 

"But the country has prospered under the 
Union — is probably better off now than it has 
ever been?" 

"Farmers and shopkeepers are well off here 
in King's Co., not the common people." 

The Archdeacon went on to say that wages 
were <£2 a week as compared with 14^. before 
the war, but work was not regular and all 
men had idle periods, especially agricultural 

182 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

labourers, masons, slaters, carpenters, painters. 
There was no building going on ; there were a 
hundred unemployed in Birr alone. If wages 
were two and a half times greater, prices were 
nearly the same, e.g. * 

Milk , 8d a quart 

Eggs 3^. a dozen. 

Meat 2^. a lb. 

Potatoes 2s. 2i stone. 

Coal (retail, per cwt.) . ^5 a ton. 

"Potatoes," he said, "are seldom the sole diet 
nowadays. American meat is nearly always 
eaten, though it is of poor quality. Bread and 
tea are staples. A certain amount of porter 
is drunk, but there is practically no drunken- 
ness. 

"Peat, by the time it is dug and carried, is 
nearly as dear as coal. Nowadays only about 
one man in twenty has a donkey-cart of his 



own." 



Questioned on another point: 

"The story of anti-English propaganda in 



♦This was in May. 
183 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

our schools is a damnable lie," said Arch- 
deacon Ryan emphatically. "Nor do our 
women interest themselves in politics. They 
have too much else to do." 

"Can you suggest, then, how peace can be 
brought to this unhappy country?" 

"If we can get fair play we shall not be on 
strained relations with our neighbours," was 
the reply. "Let us set up housekeeping on 
diflferent lines, and we shall get on very well. 
But the last five years will leave a bad mark 
in the history of Enghsh administration." 

"By that you mean ?" 

"The first step to peace is the control of the 
Crown Forces. If you let loose a lot of young 
men without character or control to do as they 
will, of course they get out of hand and break 
the law." 

^But the LR.A. ?" 

The I.R.A. is inspired by pure patriotism. 
The ideals of the After-War were largely re- 
sponsible for the rapid evolution of Sinn Fein 
out of the old Nationalism. Those ideals Eng- 

184 



(if 



TALKS IN THE MIDLANDS 

land has forgotten. But those are our ideals 

still." 
Archdeacon Ryan's last word was: 
"You cannot kill the soul of a people. You 

can no more do so than I can kill your soul." 



CHAPTER XII 

THE TULLAMORE ROAD 

A MAY DAY sun baked down upon the 
market square of Birr. It was early yet, 
and Sunday; the square was empty but for a 
few stray folk on their way to Mass. I hoped 
to walk the twenty-two miles to Tullamore by 
tea-time and, allowing for accidents, to cover at 
least half the distance in advance of the noon- 
day heat. 

The whitewashed and dun houses, the new- 
looking church on the first straight stretch out 
of the town were quickly left behind. There 
followed a bosky park-like country, uphill and 
down, the road ribboning ahead in long steady 
gradients. Green ridges rose on either hand, 
masses of yellow-prinked gorse filled the hol- 
lows, hawthorn in blossom and the whitish pink 
of crab-apple trees here and there broke the 

186 



THE TULLAMORE ROAD 

green of hedgerows and fir-trees. Green was 
the prevailing tone of the countryside — a green 
so vivid and fresh and dew-sparkhng as to 
suggest that a brand-new super-beautiful world 
had been born in the night. 

Mountains dreamed in the east. Slieve 
Bloom dreamed in blue-grey majesty of mist, a 
hazy mirage lay upon the peaks, a bluish film 
of heat above the intervening country. After 
the first two or three miles wide, flat spaces 
of brackish-brown bog opened up between the 
road and the mountains. 

A few people passed at first — three men rid- 
ing bicycles townwards, a man and a boy driv- 
ing a donkey-cart with a load of peat, a man 
herding cows from one field to another. All 
nodded or said *'Good morning." Two wild- 
looking women came up behind in a donkey- 
cart, followed by some girls and men on bi- 
cycles, who turned down a side-road, being 
apparently on their way to Mass at a neigh- 
bouring village. 

Three miles out a wide, deep trench had been 
dug across the road — a trench just wide enough 

187 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

and just deep enough to wreck any vehicle that 
should attempt to compass it. A long, empty 
stretch between the bog and the hillside fol- 
lowed, at the end of which three holes, of the 
size and depth of shell-holes, had been dug 
triangular-wise in the roadway, leaving a nar- 
row pathway for the foot-passenger, but ensur- 
ing certain perdition to bicycle or car. 

The chief characteristic of the remaining 
seven miles to Kilcormac was its extreme lone- 
liness. Only at one place, some children were 
sprawling outside a broken-down farmstead 
which otherwise betrayed no semblance of life, 
although one suspected that its inhabitants 
were watching from the interior. 

For miles at a stretch the only sign or sound 
was the hovering shadow and far-away whistle 
of a sparrow-hawk, the "ting-ting" of green- 
finches and chaffinches in the hedgerows, the 
melancholy piping of redshank from the bog, 
the cries of black-headed gulls which, doubtless 
nesting beside some nearby tarn, continually 
swept and swooped above the road. Yellow- 
hammers vied in hue with the brilliant gorse, 

188 



THE TULLAMORE EOAD 

butterflies flickered along the grassy border. 
Goats, cows, and donkeys completely indepen- 
dent of control made this their feeding-ground, 
or lay asleep in the dust of the road. 

A group of young men standing in the sunny 
Kilcormac village street eyed me suspiciously. 
I stopped at the inn, the landlord of which, to 
my surprise, served me with a will, pressed me 
to sit down and rest in his cool stone parlour, 
and finally refused my offer of payment. 

I decided, after a quarter of an hour's rest, 
to press on and break the backbone of the 
journey. After crossing a bridge that spanned 
a gurgling rocky stream, signs of Republican 
activity became more apparent. Trees recently 
felled lay by the roadside, some trenches that 
had been dug had evidently been filled in. I 
came suddenly up against a huge barrier. 

This was at a point where the road curved 
round the flank of a hill and was shaded by 
trees. Four heavy beech-trunks interlaced with 
boughs had been thrown across it, forming a 
twelve-feet high obstacle not dissimilar to, 
though far more substantial than, a fence at 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Aintree. To circumvent this I climbed through 
a hedge, crossing the corner of a field, and 
joined the road through another hedge. The 
white walls of a farmhouse gleamed through 
foliage at a short distance; three hundred 
yards beyond the main obstacle a stiff fence of 
boughs had been erected, and fifty yards be- 
yond this again was a newly dug trench. Of 
human or other being there was neither sight 
nor sound, the crow of a cock being the only 
sign that the farmhouse was inhabited. 

But a mile further on a shifting patch of 
blue yividly contrasted with the hillside's emer- 
ald green. A dark-haired handsome girl ac- 
companied by a child came down to the road- 
side. 

"And where might you be making for?" 

'Tullamore." 

"Have you your fiddle with you?" 

The girl looked meaningly at my rucksack. 

"Are you not the fiddler from Tullamore? 
Will you play us a tune?" 

"I am travelling through Ireland. Perhaps 
I shall write an account in, the newspapers." 

190 



THE TULLAMORE ROAD 

"Is that so ? Will you give me one then ?'' 

To be taken by the same person for a local 
fiddler and a vendor of newspapers is not every- 
body's experience. Our colloquy continued for 
some minutes. When I continued my journey 
the girl and the child were laughing amazedly, 
still unable to make me out. . . . 

After a while I sat down to rest near a cot- 
tage. An unkempt peasant woman brought me 
a glass of milk and, as the publican had done, 
refused payment. At the back of the dark 
cabin's interior I espied a young man lying on 
a bed. Half a mile farther on a figure stood 
on the skyline at some distance from the road, 
watching me intently. It continued to watch 
until I was out of sight. 

My feet began to blister, thirst increased, and 
AC heat raised a mirage over everything. An- 
other four miles brought me to a public-house 
at cross-roads. Half a dozen youths leaning 
against the wall of the inn cast anything but 
friendly glances at me and answered my ques- 
tion as to the distance to Tullamore gruffly. At 
this moment five young men on bicycles rode 

191 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

up from a side-road and, dismounting, joined 
in conversation with the original group. From 
the lowering glances directed at me, I realised 
that I was the object of their attention, but 
decided that there was no use in hanging about. 
After walking a few hundred yards, I had an 
instinctive intimation of some one following. 
Sure enough, as I looked over my shoulder, a 
man came into sight round a bend in the road. 
I waited for him to come up. A middle-aged 
peasant, he spoke with an air of surly suspicion 
and inquired sarcastically whether I had had 
much difficulty in getting along the road. I 
replied that I had encountered — obstacles. We 
walked alongside for nearly half a mile, speak- 
ing laconically of the crops and the weather. 
He then turned into a field and left me with, 
as I thought, a rather sinister grin. Feeling 
certain now that something was "in the wind," 
I plodded on apprehensively, not looking back. 
Another half-mile brought me to a place where 
a large fir-wood on one side of the road faced 
a bog on the other. I suddenly heard the rustle 
of bicycle-wheels close behind and, looking 

192 



THE TULLAMORE ROAD 

round, was confronted by the five young men 
on bicycles. 

''Stop! Hands up!" 

They leapt off and laid their bicycles by the 
road. The leader of the party, a dark, gipsy- 
faced fellow of about twenty-two, with a mop 
of matted hair and a somewhat ferocious ex- 
pression, seized my arms with a policeman's 
grip, while another, who closely resembled him, 
dragged off my rucksack with no light hand 
and passed it to his companions. All the young 
men wore caps and dark suits of clothes. My 
pockets were turned out, my purse, containing 
several £1 notes and other trifles, being taken. 
I was then ordered to sit down by the roadside. 

The half -hour that followed was much less 
than pleasant. Innocuous tourist though I 
was, friend of Ireland though I believed myself 
to be, the little slip of paper with which I had 
armed myself down-country alone seemed to 
stand between me and a peremptory fate. For 
to the rest of my identifications and references, 
which filled a large envelope, my captors paid 
no attention whatsoever. My eyes wandered 

193 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

repeatedly to the bog and my thoughts to the 
number of people who had lately been found 
in bogs with brief notes attached to them. On 
a parallel road just a week ago (I graphically 
recalled) a police inspector had been kidnapped 
and had not been heard of since. 

Meanwhile the five Republicans were busy- 
ing themselves with my mundane possessions. 
The contents of the riicksack lay in the road, 
my papers (and incidentally my pyjamas) were 
being dismembered. I could hear one of the 
party (who seemed to be a sort of Intelligence 
Officer) reading aloud the wording of my pre- 
cious slip of paper. Another seemed profound- 
ly interested in Justin McCarthy's "Outline of 
Irish History" ; a third was perusing the hiero- 
glyphics in my note-book. A long muttered 
conversation followed, during which the only 
words that caught my ear were "man" and 
"road." 

At last the leader turned from the group. 
"I think the man's all right." 

I was thereupon handed back the contents of 
my pockets and curtly told to count my money, 

194 



THE TULLAMORE ROAD 

which (out of poHteness) I omitted to do (but 
which I afterwards did and found correct). 
I now noticed that the three subordinate mem- 
bers of the party were decent, respectable-look- 
ing youths of ages between eighteen and 
twenty-one. They helped me to put my things 
together and lifted my riicksack onto my 
shoulders. 
We parted with mutual "good afternoons." 

Two miles short of Tullamore, the bridge 
spanning a swift-flowing little river had been 
blown up — so thoroughly demolished at the 
centre, in fact, as to leave a chasm too wide 
to jump. The only alternative was to wade the 
stream — no unpleasant task for swollen feet — 
and to make a detour through some birch 
woods to a point where it was possible to join 
the road again. 

That was the last physical obstacle. But, 

walking into Tullamore rather conspicuously 

dusty and a traveller, battery after battery of 

coldly hostile glances were directed at me by 

men who scowled as I passed, scowled after 

195 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

me, scowled up at the window of the inn where 
I sat at dinner. Everybody seemed to see in 
an English stranger a potential spy. At first I 
was inclined to put this feeling down to an 
undue sensitiveness induced by the events of 
the day; but the veracity of it was confirmed 
next morning when I was openly reviled by an 
apparently sober and respectable Irishwoman 
on the railway station platform. The first re- 
marks that caught my ear were : "I said I will 
not be walked over. I can only die once, and 
I'll be happy to give my Hf e for Ireland." The 
lady's choicest sentiments then became unprint- 
able ; suffice it to say that everything not good 
enough for Irishmen was "good enough for 
English dogs," and that the majority of her 
sentences ended with the exhortation, "Shoot 
me if you like! Yes — trample on my dead 
body!" 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

OWING to a recent outrage, curfew at 
Tullamore was at 9 p.m. Up to within 
a few minutes of this hour the streets were full 
of people taking the air. When, however, two 
lines of Black and Tans appeared advancing 
concentrically along the principal streets with 
rifles at the trail, everybody fled homeward. 
Only here and there impudent young women 
defied the majesty and might of the Crown up 
to and even beyond the last moment, answering 
stern admonitions to "get home in quick time" 
with laughter and sallies of wit. That it was 
not altogether a laughing matter, however, the 
sharp "crack" of a rifle presently attested. 

On Monday, May 2nd, I took train to Clara, 
and thence resumed the road to MuUingar. 

This twenty-two mile walk was uneventful ex- 

197 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

cept for losing the way and straying into the 
Kilbeggan district. 

A succession of long, narrow, and very lonely 
lanes brought me once again onto the main 
road near Castletown. 

There were occasional distractions. Two 
boys raced me for a couple of miles in a 
donkey-cart, their handicap being an ass that 
had made up its mind to proceed in the op- 
posite direction, mine increasingly sore and 
painful feet. The attitude of such people as I 
did meet was sometimes shy and suspicious, 
more often friendly — never actually hostile. 
At a wineshop-cum-grocer's at Horseleap they 
furnished bread, butter, and jam, and would 
accept payment only for a drink of ale. A little 
farther on I came upon a lonely cottage evi- 
dently inhabited, but closed and silent as the 
grave. Being uncertain of the way owing to 
an embarrassing lack of sign-posts, I knocked 
at the door. A faint rustling sound followed, 
but not until some minutes had elapsed did a 
woman show a scared face at the window and 

inquire what I wanted. 

198 



THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

"Am I on the road to Castletown, please?" 

She appeared at the door, holding by the 
hand a very small boy. 

'We don't see many strangers here," she 
explained. "And I'm all alone." 

The singular absence of life throughout this 
tract of country, and indeed throughout all the 
country districts of Ireland, was very striking. 
The regulations restricting the use of motor- 
cars were, of course, mainly responsible for 
this, the only motor-vehicles encountered being 
bakers' and provision vans and an occasional 
Government or County Council hauling-trac- 
tor. The country itself was wild and steeply 
undulating. There were occasional crops of 
barley and oats, but the landscape consisted, 
for the most part, of pasture grazed by cows 
and geese. When the sun came out between 
showers, gorse, commons, bog, stone walls, 
patches of bracken, hillsides tangled with 
growth of furze, fir, and rowan, larch-woods 
and spring-fed streams, melted in a glorious 
confusion of haphazard colour, yellows, blues, 
greens, browns, and deepest indigo of distance, 

199 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

offering an impression of extraordinary con- 
fusion and charm. 

At MuUingar the May cattle fair had just 
ended, and the beasts were being driven away 
by their ragged herds; only a few lean red 
bullocks stood in the centre of the main street 
until such time as their keepers should finish 
regaling themselves in the public-houses. That 
drink flowed pretty freely on these occasions 
was announced to all-comers by a gentleman 
in rags who stood throughout the whole of 
one day on the curb of the pavement, alter- 
nately shouting, singing at the top of his voice, 
and remonstrating with himself for his con- 
duct. To watch him in his happiness was a 
joy in itself. Whenever a grown-up lady 
passed he bowed with extreme deference; but 
if it was a young girl he winked, a roguish 
look came into his eye, he sniggered. Any 
friend who passed he invited to join him in a 
glass; and if nobody passed he shouted to the 
world at large that it was glorious to be 
drunk, that it was ecstasy — or words to this 
effect. . . . 

200 



THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

Mullingar, politically, is one of the quietest 
towns in Ireland. 

I learnt this from John P. Hayden, twenty- 
one years Nationalist Member of Parliament 
for South Roscommon, a leading resident of 
the town. An acute and nowadays dispassion- 
ate observer of current politics, Mr. Hayden 
was in some ways better able to estimate the 
aspirations and ambitions of his countrymen 
at Mullingar than had been William O'Brien 
at Mallow. 

He spoke at any rate with the calm deliber- 
ation of a man who looks back upon the past 
with regret but without rancour. His point of 
view disclosed itself in the very first sentence 
of a long conversation. 

"If I did not think the Irish people would 
be satisfied to-day with self-government within 
the Empire my whole life would be a lie." 

I asked him kindly to diagnose the present 
state of the country. 

"There can be no doubt Ireland is behind the 
Sinn Fein movement," was his reply, "though 

201 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

five years ago the names of Eamon de Valera, 
Arthur Griffith, and Michael ColHns were un- 
known, even to Irishmen. Nevertheless, I 
regard this as one of the most tragic periods 
in our history. It has been a history — of mis- 
takes. The roots of Irish discontent never 
really lay in poverty but in a desire for free- 
dom — that is the mistake England made. Na- 
tionalism linked the Land Question with the 
National Question — the people to become own- 
ers. That is the mistake we made." 

It was natural, perhaps that we should dwell 
on the past. 

'Tecky's 'History of Ireland' has made 
many a rebel. You say Treland is slow to for- 
get,' but our wrongs are not righted, so we 
haven't a chance to forget. Half a century of 
constitutional agitation for Home Rule has 
failed to obtain it. The General Elections of 
74, '85, '86, '92, '10, and '18— all gave a clear 
Irish verdict for Home Rule, a verdict which 
has been endorsed by our own and foreign 
peoples in other lands. Isaac Butt called a 
Conference of Protestants and landowners, and 

202 



THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

defined Home Rule. Parnell kept down the 
physical force element and insisted on Consti- 
tutional methods. The present physical move- 
ment is purely patriotic and largely results 
from a conviction of treachery." 

"What actually brought about the sudden 
change ?" 

"The bitterness of repeated disappointments 
and the formation of the Ulster Volunteers by 
Carson — one of the greatest enemies of his 
country, let me say. It was Carson's men who 
set the example of raising an armed force. 
Sinn Fein was delighted at the opportunity of 
following suit, and at one Sinn Fein meeting 
three cheers were given for the Ulster leader ! 
'If they, why not we?' was the cry. 'Physical 
force to meet physical force!' The difference 
is that Carson professed loyalty and prepared 
rebellion, while we declared ourselves rebels 
and took the risk. Ireland was furious at Car- 
son being made Attorney-General. The most 
prominent abettors of drilling and importing 
arms were on the Bench !" 

"Who do you consider to have been the best 

203 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Chief Secretary since the beginning of the cen- 
tury?" 

''Birrell. Birrell was the only Chief Secre- 
tary we've ever had who didn't think he had a 
right to be here. He set to work to be the last 
of his tribe, and he very nearly succeeded." 

"And Balfour?" 

"Balfour's administration resembled Green- 
wood's. But Balfour was respected." 

"Do you think anti-English propaganda in 
the schools has had much to do with the pres- 
ent state of affairs?" 

"Not in my experience. It certainly did not 
in my day." 

"Or Bolshevism — so-called?" 

"Not with Sinn Fein. It may have sup- 
ported the Irish Labour Party. Sinn Fein and 
Labour work hand-in-hand towards a separate 
ideal." 

"Or religious differences?" 

"There are no religious differences in the 
Midlands and South. Sir Hamar Green- 
wood's statement to the effect that 'the minor- 

204 



THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

m 

^ ity have been shot In Ireland because they are 
Protestants is absolutely scandalous." 

''The country is exceptionally prosperous at' 
the present time ?" 

'Teople are better off than before the war, 
but enterprise is stopped and labour dearer 
than two years ago. The minimum wage for 
agricultural labourers has just been raised to 
£2 a week." * 

"What is your opinion of the present Ad- 
ministration?" 

"Nobody trusts Lloyd George. Politically 
he is not straight. As for Greenwood, he's — 
preposterous." 

"And the Government of Ireland Act?" 

"No good in its present form. The South- 
ern Irish see in it two things: (1) Partition; 

* This was the actual rate in May, 1921, which has since 
been raised to 45^. a week in Westmeath, with a demand pend- 
ing for 50^. At a meeting of the Agricultural Wages Board 
held in Dublin on May 4th, 1921, an order was made fixing 
the minimum rates of wages for male workers over 20 years 
of age at 34^. in Group I., and 32s. in Group IL, the inclusive 
rate for cowmen, cattlemen, yardmen, and full-time herds to 
be 37s. 6d. in Group I., and 35s. 6d. in Group II. The maxi- 
mum values to be placed on board and lodgings in the case of 
adult male workers was fixed at 16s. 6d. and 14^. 6d. respec- 
tively in both groups. 

205 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

(2) Plunder. It divides the country on sec- 
tarian lines and imposes a huge tribute on us. 
Ireland, mind you, has to pay for all services, 
some of which she will not control herself, 
plus eighteen millions of money. If you say 
that we ought to pay our share of the Imperial 
War Debt, as Canada and Australia are doing, 
my answer is that the choice of war or peace 
was not left to us but it was to them. Then, 
is it fair that six counties should have the 
same representation as twenty-six, as in the 
Council for all Ireland? Another extraordi- 
nary thing about the Act is that there should 
be a Senate in each Parliament nominated by 
the Crown in the case of the South and elected 
by the dominant party in the case of the 
North?" 

"You condemn the Government's present 
policy?" 

"The Black and Tan business has sunk deep 
already into the national mind. But Irishmen 
forget quickly if they are allowed to, and, given 
a generous settlement, the whole wretched 

affair would probably soon be forgotten." 

■' 206 



THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

"The Irish have a curious knack, though, of 
forgetting and remembering again a century 
or two later?" 

"Only if recollection is forced upon them; 
only if their wrongs are constantly rising up 
and hitting them in the face. The Irish do not 
dislike the English so much as the English gov- 
erning classes who have wrought all the mis- 
chief. But we hold the English people respon- 
sible for the present, disastrous policy." 

"What do you consider the shortest way to 
peace?" 

"A lot might be accomplished by the leaders 
coming together. You never find t'other fel- 
low so bad as you imagine him. Create an 
atmosphere by a real offer." 

"Is a man like Lord Derby welcome as a 
mediator?" 

"Lord Derby is a good man. You can trust 
him." 

"And what would you call a Veal offer' ?" 

"A definite offer of Dominion Home Rule 

should be made by the British Government and 

it would probably be accepted, though this is 

207 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

less likely than would have been the case four 
years ago." 

"And Ulster?'' 

"It may still be possible to bring Ulster into 
a Dublin Parliament. It could have been done 
at the close of the Convention early in 1918. 
The Ulster representatives might then have 
brought the North into the settlement by say- 
ing, We must give way. This thing is forced 
on us. We'll make the best of Home Rule.' 
But the eighteen Ulster members were only 
delegates, not plenipotentiaries, and had to 
carry all questions for decision to their leaders, 
who were outside the spirit and 'atmosphere' 
of the Conference;" 

"In your opinion the demand for an inde- 
pendent Republic is not final, then?" 

"Ireland would be content to remain within 
the British Empire if given a generous meas- 
ure of self-government analogous to Dominion 
Home Rule." 

There seemed no special purpose to be served 
by tramping through the grazing lands of 

208 



THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

Meath to Navan and Athboy, where I was in- 
formed people in the thinly-populated districts 
only want to settle down under a measure of 
Home Rule. My feet, moreover, were in a 
parlous state owing to the extreme dryness of 
the roads and the longish distrtices covered 
without much opportunity of hardening them. 

I thus, on May 3rd, took train for the North- 
east, being entertained throughout the journey 
by one of those merry old Irishmen who per se 
proclaim "Ireland a nation." 

All the way he talked, laughed, and sang 
songs, telling one anecdote after another, tell- 
ing of how he used to play the cornet in the 
local band, and of how his father had informed 
him (early) that "he'd a voice like a crow or a 
bridge falling." 

He related, too, with ardour the stbry of the 
intoxicated man from Portadown who found 
himself in a railway-carriage with a priest. 

"To Hell with the Pope !" shouted J:he Ulster- 
man at the top of his voice. 

The priest looked shocked. 

"Why do you say that, my good man?" he 

209 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

gently remonstrated. "Do you know His Holi- 
ness, because I can assure you he is a very 
nice, kindly old gentleman, who never did any- 
body any harm." 

"Well, he's got a damned bad name in Por- 
tadown!" was the reply. 

"That's your narrow-minded Northern 
bigots!" cried my companion, roaring at his 
own joke, "the men you're going to meet." 

He presently opened a Dublin paper and 
became serious. 

"Ah ! John Traynor — they've hanged him." 
He took off his hat. "He's joined the souls of 
those who've died for Ireland." 

^^p ^? ^b^ ^^ ^fe 

^i ^% ^f^ ^^ ^1^ 

Dundalk in Co. Louth is a dirty red-and- 
white town with a considerable tanning and 
leather industry. It is also a hotbed of Sinn 
Fein. And it was here I joined the high road 
from Dublin to Belfast. 

I stayed one night. There could be no doubt 
that the town was at this time what is uncom- 
fortably called in Ireland "waking up," which 

210 



THE ROAD TO ULSTER 

meant that agents of the I.R.A. had made their 
appearance in the locality. Their attentions 
so far had been confined mainly to inflicting 
punishment for infringements of the boycott. 
Only a day or two before rolls of Belfast cloth 
had been taken out of a shop and burned in 
the main street. There had also been a raid 
on a bank, and one or two attacks on police 
barracks. In the ten miles to Newry, I found 
that over four of them the telegraph wires 
had been systematically cut; and where the 
beechwoods fall steep to the road at Ravens- 
dale a bridge had been damaged and the road 
holed. A fine sporting country, this East 
Louth, with its gs^y streams alive with trout, 
its great woodlands teeming with wild pheas- 
ants, its stony, heathery mountains, the worst 
walking in the world, where a man may climb 
and stumble all day long and be alone with 
the crow of the cock grouse, the swoop of the 
peregrine-falcon, and the swift-falling mists. 
A paradise of wild life, for the blue hare and 
the deer are found high on the mountain, 
herons and kingfishers haunt the lower 

211 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

streams, the hillsides swarm with rabbits, and 
when early winter comes the woodcock comes, 
too, to every mossy wood and copse. Nor is 
that all. Carlingford way, among the moun- 
tains, you have vast stretches of snipe-bog and 
reedy pools where gulls and wild duck nest; 
stretches of marsh and sand, the home of 
waders innumerable, extend to the verges of 
the sea. ... 

I came to Newry late in a stormy afternoon. 
Rain swept up at dusk and, driving over the 
grey rooftops, lashed the mountain-tops of 
Mourne. The Black and Tans were more than 
usually active after curfew — there had been 
trouble out towards Carlingford — and every 
few minutes the big Crossley cars with their 
dark green freights rushed past, firing occa- 
sional shots as they went. 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE GATES OF ULSTER 

NEWRY is the gate of Ulster. . . . 
In a garden an old man paced slowly 
up and down, up and down, rain or fine, like 
the ghostly lovers in Thomas Hardy's poem. 
He was, they informed me, father of sons who 
last week had taken part in a bombing-attack 
on the police in the main street and now lay in 
Belfast Prison awaiting trial. That was not 
all. Revolvers found in the father's house had 
drawn prosecution and a fine on himself for 
their delinquencies. 

It was Sunday, and numbers of men stood 
about the ugly streets with nothing to do. 
That the political complexion of the town was 
almost exactly half-and-half, with a slight Sinn 
Fein preponderance, was to be expected; that 
more than half the population was unemployed, 
less so* One of a group of men standing on 

213 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

the quay informed me that only one flax-fac- 
tory was working, that there was no demand 
for linen, and that no ships were entering or 
leaving the port, with the exception of the 
Liverpool steamer. Half the male population 
was living on its unemployment dole. 

I entered the Roman Catholic Cathedral and 
found it crowded. Walking down the street, 
the old scowls met you at one corner, but before 
you had reached the next a young man of 
whom you had asked the way came up and en- 
tered into conversation apparently out of sheer 
partiality for English society. What did I 
think of curfew at nine? Wasn't it a shame, 
but it didn't affect him, for he lived at Cam- 
lough just outside the curfew area, etc. . . . 

That evening I talked over dinner with a 
Dublin Castle official employed on local busi- 
ness, who gave a not uninteresting summary 
of the last seven years in Ireland. The failure 
of the 1914 Home Rule Act (he said) was the 
direct cause of the 1916 Rebellion. Up till 
about the spring of 1915 there was real enthu- 
siasm for the war in Ireland, men were ready 

214 



THE GATES OF ULSTER 

to join in thousands. He mentioned a review 
of National Volunteers before Mr. Redmond 
held in Phoenix Park late in 1914 at which 
twenty thousand men had paraded, ready and 
able to defend their native shores. From the 
first, however, the War Office, acting on the 
principle, "We don't want too many Irish 
troops," mishandled and discouraged popular 
feeling. Then the people began to realise they 
had been duped, or thought they had, over the 
Act, and that reaction set in which rose to a 
crescendo in the Rebellion. 

Lord French came to Ireland on May 6th, 
1918, with a poHcy of reconstruction. He came 
also to fight the anti-Conscription League, 
which in spite of him triumphed. 

The first murder took place on January 21st, 
1919 (the anniversary, curiously enough, of 
the murders of Burke and Lord Frederick 
Cavendish), when two policemen, McDonnell 
and O'Connell, were killed at Solloghodbeg, 
Co. Tipperary, while escorting a load of ex- 
plosives for blasting purposes. There had 

previously been a campaign of intimidation by 

215 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Sinn Fein, followed by a crop of R.I.C. res- 
ignations. 

"It was about this time," my acquaintance 
said, "or a little earlier that I heard de Valera 
speak in East Clare. There was wild enthu- 
siasm at first, but as a speaker he was curiously 
unimpressive. Within ten minutes the meet- 
ing was half -empty.'' 

Reviewing Ireland's long line of Chief Sec- 
retaries since he had been at the Castle, he 
gave it as his opinion that Mr. Balfour was the 
only one who could have handled the present 
situation with any prospect of success. 

I questioned him as to the future of Ulster. 

"The Northern Parliament will go on func- 
tioning, but it will not be able to do so success- 
fully without the Southern. The boycott will 
become a very serious matter for Belfast. 
Eventually, in my belief, a bargain will have to 
be struck whereby the North will enter a Na- 
tional Parliament under safeguards. That is 
the only way to peace." 

Next morning I set out upon the last stage 
of the road to Belfast. The thirteen miles to 

216 



THE GATES OF ULSTE.R 

Banbridge are signally dull. The road, flat 
or undulating, leads through grass fields di- 
vided by stone walls, with occasional heaths 
and commons. The villages are whitewashed 
or of grey stone, a little more substantial per- 
haps than the villages farther South: there 
were fewer, at any rate, of those melancholy, 
broken-down cottages which are there so fre- 
quently seen. I passed through two villages 
and by a little reed-engirdled lake, lively with 
the flights and cries of moorhens, and of nest- 
ing wild duck. The mountains of Mourne were 
never far distant. There were no obstacles on 
this road, no tree-trunks, holes or trenches; 
there was indeed no trafiic except a couple of 
motor-cars, one or two traps, and three or four 
bicyclists during the whole journey. 

And the complexion of the people changed. 
A squarer, sturdier, fairer race populated the 
villages. The dark eyes and hair, the swarthy 
complexion, the striking beauty and features 
of the Southern peasants seemed to give way 
to a ruddier complexion, blue eyes, flaxen hair. 
The manner and the accent changed north of 

217 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Newry, taking on a certain brusqueness and 
directness; a lingering on the r's was notice- 
able that had more of Glasgow in it than of 
Dublin. Yes, the human type was definitely 
different. 

And to leave Newry by the northward way 
was to cast another look back into the turbid 
history of the last eight years. There is a 
five-acre field on the outskirts of the town — 
used, I think, as a sports' ground — where 
assembled one September day of 1913 a great 
concourse of Ulstermen. Bands were playing, 
and on one side of the ground a large wooden 
stand was filled with the chief men and women 
of Co. Down. Before this stand thousands of 
Volunteers were drawn up. Now their leader 
arrived, and the whole assembly broke into 
great cheering; there is a glimpse of Sir Ed- 
ward Carson lying back rather wearily in a 
motor-car, acknowledging the salutations with 
a wave of the hand. F. E. Smith one can recall 
very distinctly — leaning forward, curiously 
youthful in appearance, beating out his points 
on the rostrum in front of him. Captain James 

218 



THE GATES OF ULSTER 

Craig is less vivid, but seeing him at Holywood 
again one recaptures an impression of impreg- 
nable stolidity. The old Lord Londonderry 
was there, his powerful wife, the old Lord Kil- 
morey, the Duke of Abercorn, and many oth- 
ers. In the golden September sunshine, amid 
the half -circle of mountains, the Ulster Volun- 
teers marching past their political chiefs made 
a brave effect. At the close a solemn shout was 
raised for the pledge of the Covenant which 
should bind all Irish Unionists together. . . . 
Ironic echoes answer but — history draws a 
veil over the years between. 

If Newry is the gate of Ulster, Banbridge 
is quite definitely Ulster. It is an outpost of 
Belfast. 

The principal industry of Banbridge is linen. 
Here, and hereabouts, is grown the finest flax 
in the world; here, too, it is bleached, woven 
into linen, and despatched to Belfast. 

Before the war, the largest quantity of flax 

was exported to Germany. Owing, however, 

to depression in the industry caused by lack of 

219 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

raw material, high prices on account of high 
wages, and consequently reduced demand, 
numbers of hands, as at Newry, were out of 
work. Two thousand five hundred were re- 
ported to be living on unemployment pay 
within a radius of twenty miles. 

Within a radius of three miles, fifty or sixty 
families had emigrated in as many months, the 
reason given being general depression, unem- 
ployment, and the uncertainty of the future. 

I took a walk round the town, the neighbour- 
hood of which is ugly and flat. A crowd stood 
on the bridge that spans the curious steep dip 
in the centre of the main street. A young man 
was holding forth on the subject of his soul's 
salvation. 

The best commentary on this piece of 
egotism seemed to be a burnt-out house which 
gapes on the main street, and down a side-street 
two more. These are the work of the Protes- 
tant population of Banbridge who, last July, 
year, wreaked their vengeance on Sinn Fein 
after the murder of a native of the town, Con- 
stabulary-Captain Smith, in Cork city. 

220 



THE GATES OF ULSTER 

One who took part in the affair said: 

"I was on the fire-brigade the first night 
and worked hard. But when somebody cut 
the hose I chucked it. Next night we burnt 
the rest." 

It was easy to make friends in Banbridge. 
Slowly at first, and then with a dawning and 
pleasant consciousness, the friendliness of the 
place imposed itself upon one. An English- 
man feels he is liked there, trusted, welcomed. 

Two friends in especial I made — ^partners 
in a motor business. These hospitable gentle- 
men entertained me at the back of their shop, 
and after dark insisted on running the police 
gauntlet to a nearby public house, where they 
procured a bottle of whisky. 

In a small store-room or office, lit by a can- 
dle and surrounded by spare tyres, tins of oil, 
and patent valve-lifters, we talked far into the 
small hours. What politicians they were! 
Ardent, angry, determined but not bigoted. 
The cleverer one, a sandy-haired freckly fel- 
low, said: 

"We won't go under any Dublin Parliament. 

221 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

What they want is our money. It's all very 
well to talk about safeguards now, but this is 
a question that involves our whole future. 
Once give our freedom over to Catholics and 
we shall not get it back. The thing's impos- 
sible. We never wanted the present Act, but, 
rebels and murderers as they are, we'll meet 
them on the Council of Ireland, and when they 
show they know how to behave themselves, 
perhaps we'll think it over." 

Again, said he : 

*'Our economic relations, you must remem- 
ber, are absolutely bound up with England. 
You are our market for cattle, tobacco, and to 
a certain extent linen. We get from you mo- 
tor-cars, agricultural machinery, and most of 
the necessities. For us there's no other suitable 
market." 

"What about the boycott?" 

"That hits the big Belfast wholesale firms, 
no doubt, but not the main industries of Ulster, 
which are export. Very little, bar imported 
stuff, goes South." 

222 



THE GATES OF ULSTER 

The other fellow's contribution — a fine, 
sturdy type of Ulsterman — was: 

"Craig's a great man. In some ways he's a 
better man for us at the present moment than 
Carson. He was born among us, you see, and 
he's always lived here. He's more in touch 
perhaps with the practical occupations and 
aspirations of the people. Carson, after all, is 
a Galway man. We absolutely trust Craig, 
and if he decides it's O.K. to meet the Repub- 
licans — well, it is." 

"Politics are the curse of Ulster," com- 
mented his friend, throwing away a cigarette- 
end. "We talk, talk, talk politics morning, 
noon, and night. But if necessary we'll fight." 



CHAPTER XV 

BELFAST 

IT was evening. ... 
The Lough lay glooming in an uncer- 
tain light. One or two yachts and small fish- 
ing-smacks rode upon grey waters. The 
Liverpool steamer made her way seawards on 
the ebb-tide. Over yonder the hills of Antrim 
frowned rainf uUy across the smoke of Belfast. 

There is a promenade between the railway 
line and the shores of the lough at Holywood. 
Here, on the evening of Friday, May 6th, 
young couples strolled, inhaling the salt and 
seaweed air. A little inland, on low, wooded 
hills, white, substantial villas peeped through 
the foliage of gardens. 

Leaving the station, I found an avenue of 
chestnuts leading up to the little suburb itself. 
Half-way along this, on the left-hand side, a 

224 



BELFAST 

small crowd stood outside a building of the 
plain, sensible sort so liberally affected by Bel- 
fast. There was cheering, and a motor-car 
was approaching at a foot's pace, accompanied 
by an enthusiastic throng. The car stopped. 
There was another outburst of cheering; from 
the car stepped a broad, thick-set man with an 
expansive, good-humoured face. It was Sir 
James Craig. 

He shook a policeman's hand with a grip so 
hearty as to make the worthy fellow wince. 
Followed by Lady Craig, he entered the Hall. 

It was packed. It was packed with men and 
women in almost equal proportions, who rose 
on the Ulster leader's entry. When you scruti- 
nised them individually, you perceived an Eng- 
lish audience or a Scotch one. One thing it 
had not the appearance of — an Irish audience. 

William of Orange looked down. William 
of Orange on a white charger stared indomita- 
bly from his vantage-point over the battlefield 
of the Boyne. In other guises he looked at you 
from the Orangemen's banners. He was green, 
he was framed in scarlet, he was pointing, he 

225 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

was glancing proudly; he was always proud, 
ma j estic — victorious. 

They took their seats upon the platform — 
Sir James a little in front beside the Chairman, 
the speakers and the candidates flanking him. 
Behind, ladies sat, ladies whose faces betrayed 
the excitement of an election meeting. That 
meeting began not with a speech, but with the 
singing of "For he's a jolly good fellow" — 
an incomplete version of this popular refrain, 
but enough to do justice to the occasion. The 
Chairman then suggested that the Ulster 
hymn, "O God Our Help in Ages Past," should 
be sung. It was sung, and the iron ring in its 
lusty rendering seemed to carry no memories 
across a gulf of seven years. 

Sir James Craig rose. Outside, said he, 
there would be an overflow meeting; and he 
bade young Captain Mulholland — Cambridge 
University cricketer and candidate for the 
Holywood division — go keep it quiet. Young 
Captain Mulholland clicked his heels, saluted, 
and turned about. 

If Sir James had a text, it was this: *'You 

226 



BELFAST 

have done me the honour to elect me as your 
leader, and" — raising his voice — "/ mean to 
leady 

That was the dominant note. 

He also said this : 

"The British Government will let us down 
to-morrow if they can get the smallest benefit 
out of it." 

That was Ulster's point of contact with the 
South. 

He next went on to describe the circum- 
stances antecedent to his meeting with Eamon 
de Valera, which had taken place two days be- 
fore. For this moment alone the speech had 
been curiously awaited. After the manner of 
political leaders, he proceeded to say a great 
deal on the subject of this event— and to tell 
nothing. 

Lord Fitzalan had just come to Dublin. 
And on this event the Ulster leader vouchsafed 
two or three not insignificant sentences : 

"The status of the new Lord Lieutenant is com- 
pletely changed. He will keep outside politics. It will 
be more on a par with that of Lieutenant-Governor of 

227 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

a Crown Colony. He will simply be the King's repre- 
sentative." 

But what was said after Sir James Craig had 
left the meeting was of greater significance 
than anything that fell from his own lips. 

There was an elderly white-bearded candi- 
date, Mr. McBride. His mode of address is 
not uncharacteristic of Belfast : 

"We want no more meetings with de Valera, and 
we'll have none. If I know the people of Ulster, they 
will never consent to come in contact with men like de 
Valera." 

Tom Lavery, a Labour candidate, got up. 

"Fm Tom," he said, "of County Down, not 
Dan of Ballykinlar." That provoked laughter. 

There was none when he said, "We cannot 
go further at present with the assassins and 
murderers of the loyal people of Ireland." 

It was a wet night in East Belfast. And 
under the rain a great industrial city is a dreary 
place. Everybody was glad to squeeze into the 
Orange Hall, where two of the candidates 
were going to address the electors. 

228 



BELFAST 

Captain Herbert Dixon, M.P., spoke first. 
He is an alert, youngish man, with a well- 
brushed business type of mind. Sir Dawson 
Bates, secretary of the Irish Unionist Alliance, 
followed — a downright hard-headed zealot, 
with a clear-cut horizon and no sentiment to 
spare. 

I sat in a corner, but it was near the plat- 
form, but while the two Northerners spoke, my 
mind was occupied with — Barry Egan and 
Liamon de Roiste. An ''incisiveness" of out- 
look might join Egan with Dixon; they would 
watch each other, they would fence. If it came 
to business, Dixon's mind might win the day; 
if to political negotiation, he would barely hold 
his own; if to "intellect" — on the whole, 
Egan. 

Bates and de Roiste are extremes, totally at 
variance. Sir Dawson has no words to spare 
— no "moments outside business." He speaks 
and looks and thinks and is — Belfast. In de 
Roiste there are reserves — of irony, intelli- 
gence, fertility. De Roiste is an unsounded 
quantity. 

229 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Nor can the mind at once adjust itself to 
Ulster. 

"We don't want a United Ireland, we want 
a United Kingdom." 

To one from the South that was — frankly 
— a bombshell. Perhaps it ought not to have 
been. But it was. 

And the phrase was- applauded; it was 
roared at. 

I noted other points in the speeches which 
provoked clappings and "Hear, hear !" 

"Some people hope that Ulster is going to 
make a mess of things. Failure means handing 
our bodies and souls over to Sinn Fein and the 
Roman Catholic Church/' 

"We've had enough Dublin in the past. If 
we can crush Sinn Fein at the forthcoming 
elections, there's a bright future for Ulster." 

"If murder, outrage, and the killing of 
Protestants •*' 

The speaker did not reach the end of this 
sentence; he quoted instead from a despatch 
to the Morm'ng Post: 

230 



BELFAST 

"There is going on to-day a St. Bartholo- 
mew of Protestants in the County of Cork. 
These enemies of 'reformed* religion' are 
being slaughtered." 

A lady spoke. She advocated kitchen-meet- 
ings of ten or twelve women. "Get together," 
she advised, "and talk over things. You know 
what is wanted in Belfast. A large number of 
our school-houses are not fit to house pigs 
in. It's no fault of ours that our children are 
taught sedition." 

An ex-soldier spoke: 

"Ex-soldiers, will you get fair treatment 
from the party that said you were traitors to 
your country? ... If you go to villages in 
the South and West, you find miserable hovels 
and among them magnificent chapels — the 
homes of the priests, but paid for by the peo- 
ple." 

The meeting closed on the chairman's note : 

"We're not tired of the good old Union 

231 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Jack. Let's keep that flag flying over the 
North of Ireland!" 

"Free-man ! Free man ! Early sixth i Early 
sixth!" 

The newsboys shouted, the trams clanked, 
the bells clanged. Was there ever such a place 
for trams? Crowds ambulating along High 
Street, shopping crowds and business crowds 
colliding all day long at the junction of Royal 
Avenue and Donegal Place — ^the pivot of Bel- 
fast. 

And at night — what a crush at the junc- 
tion! "Antrim Road — Shankhill Road — Falls 
Road — Belmont." On the stroke of ten-thirty 
— silence. ... 

I took a tram to the Falls Road terminus. 
Row upon row of newish brick tenement- 
houses, of squalid shops, picture palaces innu- 
merable, youths playing football in waste 
spaces, and near the end of the long road a 
small, quiet park overlooked by Squire's Moun- 
tain. A feature of the journey was the names 
above the shops — Murphy, Ryan, Connor, 

232 



BELFAST 

Mahoney, Keogh, Molloy. And they, in turn, 
accounted for inscriptions on blank walls such 
as: "Up Dublin! Your hour is come! Be- 
ware ! Shoot on sight ! Up the rebels !" 

If Belfast's characteristic sound is the 
clangour of the tramcar bells, her characteris- 
tic hour is 5.30 p.m. Then the shipyard and 
factory sirens hoot across the city. The ship- 
yard workers crowd out of the docks until 
Waring Street and High Street are blocked 
with them. A similar scene may be witnessed 
near the gates of the West India Docks, Lon- 
don — crowds of brawny men with grimy faces 
in caps and blue overalls and shirts without 
collars, carrying small wicker baskets. In Bel- 
fast you have the spectacle of special trams 
labelled "Workers only," crowded from roof 
to floor and passing in procession at this hour 
down High Street. 

Enter the docks. And what a contrast when 

you think of the Belfast of 1913! True, the 

riveting hammers still beat out their lively 

tune, and at Harland & Wolff's you find the 

skeleton of a liner in the hands of a small army. 

233 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

But opposite is the limbless trunk of a half- 
built vessel which has long been lying on the 
stocks. That, indeed, is the piano key of a 
great port which has more shipping than 
freight, which has not the money to complete 
what it has begun. 

A submarine re-fitting lies along Donegal 
Quay; just below the Fleetwood berth a Scan- 
dinavian cargo-boat is newly in with timber. 
Walking the length of an endless row of ware- 
houses and sheds, you find half a dozen men 
shovelling a few hundred-weight of condemned 
grain into sacks. You see ships rusted, ships 
apparently forgotten, ships to be sold, ships 
without a buyer, ships that it does not pay to 
repair. You see — stagnancy. 

All Belfast was talking of the Craig-de Va- 
lera meeting, girding itself with an illusive 
expectancy, girding sometimes at its own 
leader, sometimes at the other leader, tending 
to lose sight of the major question in the mo- 
mentary issue. The first thing I asked the 

234 



BELFAST 

Finance Minister-Designate when he received 
me, was : 

"Is there any prospect of Ulster accepting 
or devising such guarantees or safeguards as 
may bring her into a Dublin Parliament?" 
Mr. Pollock's energetic answer was : 
"Why should we go to Dublin? Why should 
we, law-abiding citizens, associate with these 
people who murder and outrage?" 

I have seldom met a more uncompromising 
man. I have seldom met a man whose de- 
meanour expressed such inflexibility, such de- 
termination. With a face strong to the point 
of fierceness, with a dark beard and forward 
chin, bushy eyebrows and stern eyes, the 
Northern Government's first Finance Minister 
can hardly be described as concessionable. 
'Can you suggest steps to peace?" 
The present Act of Parliament is the only 
form of Home Rule acceptable to us. We 
never asked for the Government of Ireland 
Act, but in my opinion it's a good Act, and 
we mean loyally to work it, whatever happens. 

235 






A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

In doing that we're only carrying out the 
law." 

"Does it make for the ultimate unity of the 
country, in your opinion?" 

"Through the Council of Ireland, yes. North 
and South would be brought into constant con- 
tact, and the possibilities of ultimate union are 
on the whole great." 

Mr. Pollock leant back in his office chair 
with his thumbs hooked in the sleeve-holes of 
his waistcoat, and stared thoughtfully in front 
of him. 

"English people are stupid," he said bluntly. 
"Why can't they see that Ulster is the only bul- 
wark between them and complete dissolution 
of the British Empire? Once concede inde- 
pendence to Ireland, and you'll have Egypt, 
South Africa, India claiming it too." 

"Can you visualize any concession in the 
direction of Dominion Home Rule — fiscal 
autonomy, for instance?" 

"On the subject of concessions Ulster is 
adamant. We must have free trade with 
Great Britain. We prefer to remain part of a 

236 



BELFAST 

big country in a free Customs Union. Why, 
the first thing a DubHn ParHament might do 
would be to impose duties on EngHsh imported 
goods. England would retaliate — you've only 
got to read history: how, for instance, Eng- 
land ruined the Irish wool trade in the seven- 
teenth century. Well, we don't want any of 
these Customs barriers. We are practical peo- 
ple here. These Southerners are full of sen- 
timental ideas about nationality.'' 

'What about the boycott?" 

'Tt does not hit Ulster very hard. Our busi- 
ness with the South is only a distributing trade, 
circulating English imported goods. Ulster- 
manufactured tobacco goes to England, very 
little to the South, linen mostly to the United 
States, cattle to England." 

"Feeling down South is, as you know, in- 
tense on the subject of the Catholic workers 
in the shipyards." 

*^Yes, but the religious question here is really 

more apparent than real. The trouble in the 

shipyards arose from the attitude of the Sinn 

237 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Fein element imported from the South during 
the war, when labour was short. When the 
yiolence campaign began they took up an ag- 
gressive attitude towards their fellow-work- 
men. They also stood in the way of the 
ex-soldiers returned to their old jobs. The 
murder of District-Inspector Swanzy at Lis- 
burn actually lit the match. Before the I.R.A. 
campaign began Catholics and Protestants 
were working happily together, as they are 
now in other trades. Many thousand Catho- 
lics are still employed by Unionist firms, Cath- 
olics are still employed in the dockyards. The 
Nationalists, you must remember, have chased 
Protestants out of the Derry shipyards. But 
here the hostility is to Sinn Fein rather than 
to Catholics as such." 

"Does religion play any part in education 
here?" 

"The Roman Catholic Church offers no pub- 
lic education. We want popular education." 

"There's a good deal of unemployment in 
Belfast, isn't there?" 

238 



BELFAST 

''There is.'*' The causes are : 

"(1) The difficulty of obtaining raw mate- 
rials. Before the war seventy-five per cent, of 
our flax of the coarser sort was imported from 
Russia, the finer sorts from Holland and 
Belgium. Irish-grown flax made up the re- 
mainder. Canada now supplies some. Conse- 
quently the cost has gone up and the demand 
has diminished. 

"(2) Ship-owners are cancelling orders. 
Shipbuilders are delaying work, and proposing 
to reduce wages by six shillings a week. Ships 
lie half -finished because it doesn't pay to build 
them. As a result men are thrown out of emr 
ployment.'' 

"On the whole, you see very little hope of a 
settlement through the 'Partition Act' ?'* 

" 'Partition' is a political catch-phrase. The 
fact is we cannot rely upon safeguards offered 
by rebels and murderers." The words that 
followed were almost identical with those used 

* Ministry of Labour statistics of unemployed in Ireland 
showed: Belfast, 28,434; Dublin, 16,291; Cork, 10,922; Lim- 
erick, 4,188; Derry, 4,176; Waterford, 2,264. Of the total for 
Ireland, 79,046 are men, 1,809 women, 2,585 boys, 2,845 girls. 

2Z9 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

by my friends in Banbridge: "When they've 
shown they know how to behave themselves, 
then — ^perhaps in two or three years' time — 
we'll talk it over with them.'* 

One morning I called at a Roman Catholic 
college in North Belfast. 

In a very small, very bare room I talked 
with a youngish, rather shy-mannered priest 
who introduced himself as the President. 
From him came an echo of the South, only 
with an added, a keener note of resentment. 

"The Protestants here are bigots. We're 
living in a prison. If I walk down the street 
the children spit at sight of me. Our letters 
are censored and our telephone tapped." 

The first question that occurred to me was 
as to the schools and the alleged anti-English 
propaganda in the Roman Catholic colleges. 

"There is some anti-English — if you like the 
phrase — education, because we teach the his- 
tory of Ireland," was the reply. "For instance, 
I take every opportunity of knocking down 

your English 'heroes,' men like Clive and Nel- 

240 



BELFAST 

son, and the story that Burke was cruel to 
Warren Hastmgs! For the rest, the Protes- 
tants must build schools for themselves if they 
don't want their children to be 'contaminated/ 
At any rate, their children ought to be put to 
school in their own parish or district where 
they are known, instead of being sent, as they 
are, broadcast about the city/* 

I chanced to mention the burnt houses at 
Lisburn. 

"They were the homes of friends of mine, 
prosperous farmers," the priest said. "I often 
visited there. They lived their own life and 
kept to themselves — had to, indeed. So when 
the Roman Catholic shipyard workers were 
turned out of the docks the Protestants came 
and burnt them out. Oh! it's this so-called 
'religion,' not 'loyalty to the Empire,' that's 
at the back of it all." 

"How far do you think the boycott is affect- 
ing Belfast?" 

"To this extent : two-thirds of the distribut- 
ing trade in Ireland was done by Belfast, and 
Belfast merchants travelled all over the coun- 

241 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

try. Only the remaining one-third was han- 
dled by the South. Where ten thousand 
pounds a week was earned by the wholesale 
houses before, a hundred pounds is turned ovei 
now." 

"What's to be the end of it all ?" 

"A Republic is the only solution. We can't 
trust the British Government. TheyVe played 
us false over and over again. You see, we are 
idealists — in Ulster they are 'practical men.' " 

I stopped at the Nationalist Club on my way 
to see a "high Government official" Here Mr. 
Joe Devlin, surrounded by friends, was dis- 
cussing his Election Address, whilst imbibing 
a whisky-and-soda. 

He told two stories (one of which I cannot 
remember) and launched into a diatribe against 
the Government : 

"There was a man charged with blasphemy 
— cursing the Pope. He stoutly denied the 
charge in the witness-box. Then his mother 
was called to give evidence. 

" 'And did he call the Pope a damned old 
swindler, now?' 

242 



BELFAST 

" 'Ach, sure, and he did not. Mike never 
was a religious man. He couldn't have said 

itr 

"Ulster only thinks of Ulster," was the bur- 
den of the Nationalist dreadnought's discourse 
— or harangue. 

"But the boycott is a bad business for Bel- 
fast. As to the Government, Vm fed up with 
them. TheyVe done nothing but turn, twist, 
shilly-shally. A settlement could probably be 
arrived at on Dominion Home Rule lines, but 
Lloyd George ought to come out straight with 
what he's prepared to offer in the House of 
Commons." 

And with that the redoubtable "Joe" shut 
up, deftly turning the conversation to such 
subjects as the late Tom Kettle and the wick- 
edness of the coal strike and the awkwardness 
of the boat-sailings. 

The "high official," when I ran him to earth, 
proved to be a model of his kind. That is 
to say, he talked a great deal and told very 
little." 

"But/* said he, "you can take it from one 

243 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

who is 'inside things' — the war is nearly over. 
The I.R.A. are getting sick of it." 

Four months passed before his prophecy was 
fulfilled. . . . 

I inquired whether — as events appeared to 
indicate at the time — Republican activities 
were not trending North and East. Two con- 
stables had been shot dead in Donegal Place 
during the previous week, while on the pre- 
vious day a police-inspector had been danger- 
ously wounded in the Falls Road district. 

"The Police-Inspectorship of Falls Road is, 
I should say, the most dangerous position in 
the whole of Ireland. These 'gunmen' do not 
wear uniform, and in a great city like Belfast 
outrages are only possible because of the free- 
dom citizens enjoy." 

I questioned him as to the effect of the boy- 
cott. 

"The boycott, you must remember, cannot 

touch the three main industries of Ulster — 

linen, not one per cent, of which goes to the 

South, shipbuilding, and agriculture. The big 

244 



BELFAST 

manufacturing firms are, in my opinion, not 
very much affected; the small manufacturers 
and distributors are." 

"Has Belfast any retaliatory weapon — an 
embargo, for instance, on the export of South- 
country cattle or perishable goods?" 

"No. But one thing not generally realised 
is that more potatoes are grown in Down 
and Antrim than in any other counties in Ire- 
land." 

"On what terms, if any, do you think Ulster 
would enter a Dublin Parliament?" 

"There would have to be at least a one- 
fourth representation. Compare the distribu- 
tion of population — and of wealth. Outside 
Ulster you have 327,000 Protestants living in 
a population of 2,812,000 Roman Catholics; 
in the Six Counties 430,000 Roman Catholics 
living amid 820,000 Protestants. Roughly, you 
have three Catholics to one Protestant if you 
take the whole of Ireland." 

"Can you suggest no adequate safeguards, 
then?" 

245 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

"I would not say that. But to understand 
the Irish question as a whole you have to real- 
ise what the prospect of living under the rule 
of a man like de Valera means to these peo- 
ple. De Valera has defined 'safeguards' as 'the 
safeguards of common sense.' He has also 
said (at Killaloe, July 5th, 1919): If the 
Unionists do not come in on our side they will 
have to go under.' And at Ballaghadaveen a 
fortnight later : 'Ulster must be coerced if she 
stands in the way.' These are the man's real 
sentiments." 

"Whatever you do, though," my authority 
urged with much earnestness, "don't do or say 
anything which will embitter the question or 
make things worse than they are." 

At Queen's University is another more or 
less aloof observer of events — Professor 
Henry, author of "The Evolution of Sinn 
Fein." 

His views chiefly concerned the future. 

"The Southern Parliament will not func- 
tion. In the long run, the Northern Parlia- 
ment will fail because : 

246 



BELFAST 

"(1) The area delimited under the Act is 
too small. One and a quarter millions of peo- 
ple cannot form practically a separate State 
with any prospect of success. 

"(2) The expense of administration will 
prove ruinous. 

"(3) There is a total ignorance of practical 
administration in the new Government. 

"(4) There is an absolute lack of agreement 
on a definite domestic policy. 

"In Education, for instance, there are no 
signs of a definite policy. Labour is dissatis- 
fied, not knowing where it stands. Above all, 
this Northern Government is organisedly and 
avowedly anti-Catholic. 

"There can be no question of a lasting set- 
tlement through the Partition Act," he contin- 
ued. "Under it, the British Government keeps 
everything that matters for the commercial 
and industrial prosperity of Ireland. The 
number of our members at Westminster is re- 
duced. No common trade arrangements are 
possible while you have one form of Govern- 
ment in the North and another in the South. 

247 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

On the other hand, we have to pay eighteen 
milHons a year to the English Exchequer, and 
England generously returns a small propor- 
tion of it ! The root of the matter is that it is 
not to the interest of England to have us as a 
commercial rival." 

"How far do you consider the boycott affects 
Belfast?" 

"The distributing trade is almost smashed. 
That is the first-fruit of Partition." 

"Cannot Belfast start a counter-boycott?" 

"Doubtful. The only articles Ulster wants 
from the South are Limerick bacon and stout." 

"You see no likelihood of an early and per- 
manent settlement?" 

"The further the Northern Administration 
commits itself the worse the eventual smash- 
up will be. The really important point is which 
side breaks down first — that will make a dif- 
ference to the form the ultimate settlement 
takes. At the same time, I do not exclude the 
possibility of Ulster entering a Dublin Parlia- 
ment when her incapacity for separate govern- 

248 



BELFAST 

ment is proved, and a disunited Ireland is seen 
to be politically impracticable/' 

Saturday afternoons among the Belfast 
workers are as often given up to political 
demonstrations as to gameSc Only the middle 
and upper middle classes clothe themselves in 
white and board the trams that take them to 
the cricket-grounds and tennis-courts. 

And at 3 p.m. on the afternoon of May 7th, 
great numbers of working men might have 
been seen congregating in the neighbourhood 
of Carlisle Circus. It was the occasion of the 
first Elections for the Northern Parliament. 
At the corner of the side -street in which 
the procession was forming up, numbers of 
women, girls, and children stood. Every few 
minutes a brass or a drum-and-fife band 
marched up, and by degrees three large ban- 
ners were unfurled on which were emblazoned 
the names of the candidates for North Belfast, 
together with such exhortations as : 

''Vote for Union, Home and Empire! Ex- 

249 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

soldiers, don't betray your comrades who shed 
their blood!" 

When the procession set off along Antrim 
Road, it was to the strains of a rousing march 
and to facetious en joinders down a column 
nearly a quarter of a mile in length to "Keep 
step — left, right, left, right!" and "March by 
the left there !" These men had served in the 
British Army, most of them in the Great War 
— ^that was evident. 

Crowds, or rather clouds, of women, chil- 
dren, and youths accompanied the march, 
which encompassed the whole electoral dis- 
trict. Through innumerable side-streets of 
red-brick tenement-houses exactly and meticu- 
lously alike, with glimpses of washing and 
washing apparatus up alley-ways, along the 
Shankill Road, scene of so many fierce encoun- 
ters, past gasworks, past stretches of blank 
brick wall, and warehouses and factories — so 
back to Clif ten Street and Peter's Hill. There 
were no untoward incidents. 

"Up Dublin!" chalked in yellow on a wall 

roused no comment. The rain, which began to 

250 



BELFAST 

fall steadily, could damp neither bands nor en- 
thusiasm. 

At the end of the march speeches were made 
and questions asked. 

'Will the British public stand by Ulster, 
whose ^ons stood by them, or will they support 
Sinn Fein Ireland, which stabbed Britain in 
the back and has such a ghastly record of dis- 
loyalty and crime?" 

Torrential cheering was the answer, and 
cries of "She'll stand by us !" 

Yet the sombre realities of Ireland, 1921, 
could not be ignored even in Belfast. The 
Black and Tan lorries and tenders and the 
vansful of soldiers careered about the streets 
as they had done further South — only one had 
grown so accustomed to them that one hardly 
noticed them. 

It was in Belfast that I met Mr. X. of Cork, 
Charleville Junction, and Limerick — for the 
last time. He came out of the big restaurant 
in Donegal Place as I entered it. The same 
grey tweed suit, flash tie-pin, and the same 
defiant sneer at the world. 

251 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

After 10.30 p.m. silence fell upon Royal 
Avenue. It was Curfew-hour. The broad 
street lay empty. 

It was unusual to hear a motor-car rush past, 
but on my last night in Belfast this happened. 

"Crack — crack — crack — crack !" 

We ran to the window overlooking Belfast's 
principal thoroughfare. Fifty yards away the 
car drew up with a grating of brakes and wild 
jazzing of wheels. The driver jumped out — 
ran to his back tyre. Three men tumbled out, 
bewildered and rather frightened. The sound 
of a rifle-bolt being worked and cartridges 
ejected broke the brief interval of silence. A 
military patrol, three men and a corporal in 
steel helmets, came up at the double. 

A long altercation followed. Names, num- 
bers and addresses were taken. At length the 
party were allowed to proceed, and silence fell 
upon Royal Avenue once more. 

It was the 10th May. . . . 

Again the Lough lay glooming beneath a 

252 



BELFAST 

rainy sky above the Antrim hills. But as the 
boat edged slowly away from Donegal Quay, 
the beams of the setting sun broke between 
Cave Hill and the cloud above it, and lit up the 
spires, the factory chimneys, the confused 
roof-tops of Belfast. Crowds stood on the 
quay — a party of young men was leaving for 
London, if not beyond. There were men, 
women, and children in the crowd — chiefly 
women. There were facetious calls, cries, 
waving of handkerchiefs and raising of hand- 
kerchiefs to eyes as the boat slipped farther 
and farther out into the main stream. And 
there was loud singing as between those on 
the quay and those on the boat and back 
again. ... 

The sunset kindled trams and foot-passen- 
gers on the gradually receding Queen's Bridge. 
Two four-oared skiffs raced past, the cox- 
swains audibly counting the number of strokes 
to the minute. We glided by Harland & 
Wolff's, we were soon passing the submarine 
and the coloured funnels of the idle steamers 

in the docks. 

253 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

The shouts and the singing grew fainter. 
Presently they came as a far-off fitful cadence 
across the water. The handkerchiefs contin- 
ued to wave. . . . 



APPENDIX 

{Text of the Typewritten Document referred 
to on pages 38 and 65.) 

These facts must be repeated: as to "who 
began it." 

In 1917, no police killed in Ireland. But 
Irish houses raided, 250 men and women ar- 
rested; 24 political leaders hauled out of their 
country without trial; meetings suppressed; 
men, women and children beaten; newspapers 
suppressed; savage sentences for "seditious" 
speeches, etc.; 2 civilians murdered; 5 died in 
prison from ill-treatment. Not one of the 
Government criminals brought to justice. 

In 1918, no poHce killed in Ireland. But 260 
private houses raided by night; 1,100 Irish 
men and women arrested for their Irish poli- 
tics; meetings suppressed; men, women and 
children wounded; many of the 1,100 political 
prisoners maltreated in prison, one died of the 

255 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

maltreatment; 5 civilians murdered by mili- 
tary; fairs and markets suppressed. No pun- 
ishment or even reproach for the murderers. 

The Irish in 1917-18 showed what a distin- 
guished foreign visitor called "an almost crim- 
inal patience." They devoted themselves to 
preparing — ^by English form of law under 
English constitution — for the election of De- 
cember, 1918, to show the English and the 
world, peacefully and ''constitutionally," what 
they asked. They had their reward in worse 
persecution. 

Therefore, in 1919, the first policeman as 
persecutor and spy was shot; and throughout 
1919, 16, most of them in conflict with men less 
well armed than they. 

In 1919, 14,000 houses were raided at night 
by armed soldiers. and police; 335 meetings sup- 
pressed. The elected government and every 
national organisation declared illegal; 476 
armed attacks on orderly gatherings ; 260 men, 
women and children wounded ; 959 arrests for 
politics; 20 more leaders deported; 35 papers 

suppressed; 8 civilians murdered. 

256 



APPENDIX 

In 1920, more arrests, deportations, raid- 
ings, lootings and wrecking of houses. Sack- 
ing of towns and murders of civilians more fre- 
quent; mills, factories, creameries wrecked in 
an attempt to starve the people into submission 
to English rule in practice against English 
theory. 

These were the answers to the municipal 
elections of 1920 repeating the "constitutional 
demand of the people for self-determination.*' 

In June, 1920, at the rural elections, 83 per 
cent, of the people declared for Independence. 
Therefore in the following 3 months 74 towns 
were sacked and burned, and 43 innocent men 
murdered by police and military. Flogging of 
men and boys, and torturing prisoners, and 
attacks on women and children became a regu- 
lar part of England's military terrorism in 
Ireland. 

It is absurd, therefore, to say that murders 
of police caused the policy of which they were 
the result. It was Gessler "began it," not Tell. 
(And if there have been 100 armed police 
killed there have been hundreds of unarmed 

257 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

Irish killed.) The plan of the so-called Gov- 
ernment is not to suppress murder and restore 
law and order, but to suppress a people, and to 
restore over them a lawless domination whose 
infamies they hate and whose spirit they 
despise. 



AFTER-NOTE 

Almost simultaneously with the conclusion 
of this book, a truce was happily proclaimed 
in Ireland. 

This, and the protracted negotiations which 
followed, had the effect of making it inadvis- 
able (in the public interest) to publish an 
account, however non-partisan, of a journey 
through the country in its stormiest period. 

That phase, and the phase succeeding it, 
have now definitely passed. The book is there- 
fore of necessity retrospective instead of con- 
temporaneous, as was at first intended, but for 
this very reason it may have an additional in- 
terest for the reader. How far have the 
prophecies and the prognostications, the diag- 
noses, the recommendations, the hopes and 
fears expressed in it stood the test of nine 
months' negotiation? 

And isn't any conceivable settlement likely 

259 



A JOURNEY IN IRELAND 

to prove less disastrous to the people of Ire- 
land than a relapse into that sinister condition 
of subterranean manoeuvre and assassination 
now frankly called — ^War? 

W. E. 



a) 

THE END 



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